


In My Thoughts, The Lights Are Always On

by spn_j2fan



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Jared, Character Death, Complete, M/M, Minor Violence, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spn_j2fan/pseuds/spn_j2fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a time when all he wanted to be was an accountant, and then he wanted to be a husband. It wasn’t long after that, when all he could think about was becoming a father. Serial killer was never part of his plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [spn_reversebang](http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com) 2011.
> 
> I will add all the chapters as soon as I can. Definitely no more than a couple of days.
> 
> Beta'd by the absolutely amazing arliss!
> 
> Even though there is death, pain, depression, revenge, redemption and a (tiny) bit of gore, I promise there is also love and sex, sweetness and parenting along with and inbetween the hurty stuff...You might want to make sure you've got a tissue nearby.

**Chapter One**

He walked up the path and then the four flagstone steps that led to the front door of their home. He loved this place. It was spring again, and he loved how the roses blossomed and the scent lingered over the entranceway, even now. He could still smell the recently pruned junipers. It would have had to be recent; otherwise the scent would have been lost to the breeze long before he had a chance to place a foot along that path again.

He keyed the lock, twisted the knob, and tapped numbers into the keypad to turn off the alarm—all motions performed by rote, ingrained functions he had become accustomed to over the years. He flipped the switch and illuminated the empty foyer, a huge smile crossing his face even as he washed off the last of his day’s adventure in the adjacent bathroom’s sink.

The crimson-spattered clothes had been dropped in the oil-drum fire tended by an unnamed derelict on Main—he had seemed appreciative for the additional fuel. The weapons, well, they couldn’t leave the scene—they were literally imbedded in it. So all that remained for Jensen to get rid of were the splotches in his mind that weren’t ever going to go away, at least not completely. But even so, his smile grew wider as the fog of memories rose and overcame his meddlesome thoughts.

He hit the switch further down the hall, catching a whiff of the familiar aroma of freshly baked cookies as he did. He never remembered which came first: the light or the smell. But always, the next scene was predictable.

“You should have called,” Jared hurried toward the door. “I would have had dinner ready.”

Jensen’s gaze swept across his lover—his husband. Over two hundred pounds of Jared rushing toward him, clad in t-shirt, jeans and…apron, still held all the allure that he remembered from their first meeting. Or maybe there was more to it by now.

“Daddy!!” Lilly screeched, her little brother close on her heels. “We missed you! You’ve been gone for so long!” The little girl, his princess, wrapped her arms around his legs.

“Sweetie, I just left this morning,” Jensen chuckled. “But I missed you, too!”

“We went to the galley,” Arron pulled at his pant leg, trying to get a little attention for himself. “I got to see a Pizzicato.”

“Picasso.” Jared crouched down and whispered into his small son’s ear, “Pizzicato is what you do with your violin. And it was at the gallery.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Arron agreed, nodding his head vigorously and then shaking it from side to side. “We didn’t see pizzicato. You can’t see that, you have to feel it. Miss Veorella says that. But we saw a…what, Papa?”

“Picasso,” Jared whispered in his ear again.

“Picasso!” Arron exclaimed, clapping his hands. “It was wonderful, Daddy. Did you know they have two eyes on the same side of their head where Picasso comes from?”

Jensen laughed as he lifted his tiny son into his arms. “I didn’t. You will have to tell me more later. But you must be tired now. Are you ready for a story?”

“Yes!” Lilly shrieked. “It's my turn to pick, and I know which one I want!”

Jensen climbed the stairs with a child in each arm, and looked back over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his lover. He watched as Jared started turning off the downstairs’ lights, and closed his eyes before his lover disappeared in the darkness.

**--**

 

Jeff ducked under the yellow tape, flashing his FBI credentials as discreetly as possible to the hapless rookie cop monitoring this particular section of the crime scene, and wandered over to the detectives in charge.

He kept a low profile at scenes like this one—there were too many reporters and photographers that would be thrilled to get the scoop as soon as the FBI entered the investigation—so he wore a pair of decent jeans and a button-down. He didn’t even bother to tuck it in.

The rundown, single-story red brick building looked more like an old garage than an office building, but it was close to the center of town—less than half a mile from the Universities Center at Dallas and a handful of blocks from the downtown historic district. But this place right here? It was in the middle of exactly where you don’t want to be in Dallas.

And the guy hanging in the middle of the room, the last of his blood long drained from his body, had definitely picked the wrong place to be tonight, or, by the looks of the body, more likely sometime earlier in the day.

“Hey guys,” Jeff said once he’d done his initial surveillance and knew he was long clear of all the eager cameras and microphones outside. “This is the third one in a week. Apparently that warrants a visit from your friendly FBI special agent. What have you got so far?”

“JD!” Douglas exclaimed, slapping him on the back as he shook his hand. “What are you doing here? I thought you were doing a tour in D.C. now?” He gestured toward his partner before continuing, “Ramirez, this is Morgan. He used to be one of us, before he found his ‘calling.’”

Jeff waited while the younger man—younger by at least a dozen years—gave him the once over before offering a hand and asking, “What are you doing here? We’ve got three crime scenes in just six days and no signs of interstate involvement or terrorism. Why would they send an agent from Washington?”

Jeff liked the guy already; he was a thinker. “You’ve got the media all over this thing and people are scared to step outside their front doors. The Assistant Director thought you might like a little help before this thing explodes on you, but he didn’t want to send in a local agent. He figured the media would recognize any of the guys from the regional office on sight.” He walked around the body, carefully avoiding the blood pooling beneath it. Jeff put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, “I know Dallas. I know killers. I guess I was the logical choice.”

“Goddamn!” Douglas swore. “If we gotta have one of you federal sons’ a bitches, I’m glad it’s you!”

“This is pretty ugly.” Jeff manipulated the conversation easily. He stared at the body dangling from a pair of hay hooks that were imbedded directly beside each of the victim's shoulder joints, and cleverly attached to the girder overhead by a short length of chain: Keeping the body evenly displayed a few inches above the floor.

The hooks dug in just below the muscles along each shoulder. Blood, now the color of over-ripe cherries, clung in dry, clotted stripes down the length of the victim’s shirt and pants, and lay in a congealed, blackened pool on the floor. It was a pretty level floor, Jeff observed, because it was still a pool after what had to have been hours, and not a slowly tapering river leading toward the lowest point in the room. Maybe that was because the body dangled over just that very point.

“Have they all been displayed like this one?” He asked, not directing the question at either of the two detectives in particular, but focusing his attention on the body instead.

“Nah,” Ramirez replied immediately. “They’ve all been different, just the hooks are the same. The first man was lying on his bed in a posh Las Colinas condo, and the second guy was over in an old apartment in the Fair Park area. That one was kind of suspended though, but he was found sitting.”

“All guys though,” Jeff observed. “Similar ages?”

“I’m not sure this is going to fit into one of your pretty profiles, JD,” Douglas grimaced. “So far, we’ve got a young Hispanic—spoiled rich kid living off of his parents’ money as far as we can tell. Then we had the middle-aged white guy who had obviously taken a few too many hits to the head, and probably a few too many off the pipe as well. And now we have this guy, who is Hispanic like the first, but I’m guessing is somewhere around fifty. And judging by the clothes he’s wearing and the jewelry he’s got on, he didn’t really need to be here tonight.”

“Different kill sites, but all close together with no real cooling-off period in between,” Ramirez observed. “This looks spree to me. I think our killer is going to burn out quick. We’ll get some solid forensic evidence off of one of these scenes.”

Jeff shook his head, turning his attention back to the body again. “We didn’t the last time,” he replied softly. “This might look like a spree killer, but Dallas has seen this once before. 

“If you’re done here, I’ll head out first, so the reporters don’t connect me with you, and we can meet back at the precinct.” He didn’t wait for their approval; he simply turned around and walked away. Jeff had a lot to think about right now: An unsolved crime and a family he had let down. Were there more families he had to answer to now?

**--**

 

“I can’t believe you said that!” Jared huffed, pulling away and shoving at Jensen’s shoulder.

It felt good. Lying in bed with his husband always felt good, no matter what mild chastisement he suffered.

“What?” Jensen frowned. “Just because you don’t have a job right now doesn’t make you the housewife, and I really don’t need to see you in an apron.” He tried to act serious, but he just couldn’t maintain the ruse.

Nevertheless, Jared pulled further away, jumping out of their bed completely naked. As far as Jensen was concerned, that was never a bad thing—he enjoyed the view.

“I was baking, for you!” Jared countered, his hands on his hips. “And I do work, you know I do!”

Jensen leaned as far forward as he could, grabbing one of his lover’s hands away from his hips and tugging Jared back toward him. As the larger man tumbled onto the bed, they both laughed. “I know you do,” Jensen whispered against his ear. “When is that gallery going to show your paintings? They’re ten times better than Picasso’s.”

Jared let himself melt against his lover. “Well, I’m one hundred thousand times less famous than Picasso, so that’s the problem. You know what they say about starving artists.”

“You’re not starving,” Jensen frowned.

“That’s because I have you,” Jared whispered, showering kisses on his husband’s face, along his jawline. “But as far as the art world goes, no one knows who you are until you’re gone.”

“That’s not true!” Jensen argued, allowing his hand to wander along the length of his lover’s torso. The feel of taut muscle overlaid by Jared’s smooth skin never ceased to arouse him. “Look at Picasso or Dali.”

“Seriously?” Jared grinned as his movements began to match the rhythm of his lover’s hand. “Are you telling me that I need to paint as much as Picasso, or have the breadth of genres of Dali in order to make a living?”

“No,” Jensen continued, more subdued this time. Instead, he let his hands speak for him. He caressed lower and waited until Jared was panting with each stroke before whispering against his ear again. “But other than you, those are the only two artists that I know.”

Even as passion consumed him, Jared couldn’t help but laugh. “Then,” he gasped, “I am glad you are an accountant and not an art critic.”

Jensen pulled him close again and resumed his ministrations. “If I were an art critic, you would already be famous,” he replied as he rolled them over and found his place between his husband’s legs.

He moved lower and nuzzled at the join where Jared’s thigh met his groin—that almost always drew the right kind of attention.

“Mmmm,” Jared moaned, reaching a hand down to rub at the back of Jensen’s head. “Yeah baby, just like that. I had a long day.”

Jensen popped his head up immediately. “You had a long day?”

Jared didn’t bother to raise his head off the pillow, choosing to simply nod instead. “Mmm hmm. Two kids, art gallery, all day…need I say more?”

Jensen lowered his head again, and murmured against his lover’s swelling shaft. “No, Jared, I think you’ve said enough.” He licked a line from root to tip, and sucked the velvety crown in unexpectedly.

Jared groaned his approval, spreading his legs further, and pushing gently against Jensen’s head to encourage the behavior. “Please, baby! Make me come!” Jared begged, his hips bucking up into his husband’s mouth as much as Jensen would allow.

It was so hot when Jared lost it like this, that Jensen did his best to take it all. He only placed a hand lightly on one of Jared’s hips, just in case it got a little too wild for him to take. That didn’t happen often, but Jensen was used to at least a little control in his life, so he kept his hand there.

After all their years together, Jensen knew just how Jared liked it. He sucked lightly at the head for a few moments before tonguing at the slit to catch the salty drops of precome he had enticed out. And then Jensen lowered his head, drawing in as much of his lover’s length as he could before pulling back and repeating his actions until Jared’s grip tightened at the back of his neck. Jensen pulled off at that moment and turned his attention to his lover’s sac. That always drove Jared crazy.

Jared groaned. He leaned up on an elbow and licked his dry lips, tugging at Jensen’s hair with his other hand. Jensen lifted his head to meet his lover’s lust-dazed eyes. “Don’t,” Jared growled, his voice low and warning. His hand was still clutching the short hair at the nape of Jensen’s neck and a mischievous grin quirked his lip for no more than a second before he spoke again. “Don’t tease me tonight. I need it. If you’re good to me now, I’ll ride you until you come so hard you go blind.”

Jensen’s eyes grew wide, it wasn’t often Jared spoke to him like that, but when he did, he really meant it. He dropped his head back between his lover’s legs, and drew the entire length in, swallowing as much of it as he could. He used his hand to cover the rest. He swallowed around it, to give Jared that little extra that he needed, and felt saliva drip out of his mouth and down his chin. A good blowjob was almost always messy, and a little bit uncomfortable. But that didn’t keep it from being incredibly hot, and Jensen moaned around the velvety length lodged in his throat and trapping his breath.

“Yeah, baby, yeah!” Jared groaned, bucking his hips to gain that extra half-inch. “I’m…aahh!” He held Jensen in place as he came, his hips stuttering a few times and then freezing. He looked down and watched as Jensen struggled to take a breath and swallow his load at the same time, come dribbling out the corners of his mouth. Jared let his fingers trail around from the back of his lover’s neck, along his strong jaw and chin, tracing the line of come back up toward his mouth and back in where it belonged.

Jensen looked up, his tongue sneaking out from around Jared’s cock, his breaths still short and rapid, and accepted Jared’s finger. That look, that tongue, it made Jared’s softening cock twitch in interest.

Jensen let it fall from his mouth then. “Oh, hell no!” He panted out, letting his forehead rest on Jared’s hip. “I think I already earned my blindness-inducing orgasm. No way you’re going a second round without me.”

Jared laughed, pulling his lover up on top of him. “Yeah, you earned it, baby,” he whispered between kisses.

Jensen didn’t know how much later it was, he only knew he was exhausted, the good kind of exhausted, and his lover was splayed out on top of him. He rubbed small, soft circles on Jared’s sweat-covered back, and grinned when Jared batted his hand away. As loving and giving as Jared was, when fatigue overtook him, he wasn’t one for the niceties of afterplay.

Jared huffed out a breath, lifting himself off of Jensen’s chest like it took his last bit of effort, and reached for the lamp.

“No!” Jensen blurted out, grabbing Jared’s hand and startling his husband. “Sorry,” he continued in a softer tone, turning pleading eyes to his lover, “Let’s just fall asleep with it on.” Everything was so much clearer with the light on.

**--**

 

“Do we have anything?” Jeff asked, standing in front of the crowded room. There was nothing but a white dry-erase board behind him, covered with crime scene photos, victim information, and little else.

The Dallas Police Department had set aside a second-floor conference room exclusively for this investigation. The team had been given special priority, with the homicide division now working in cooperation with the FBI. The additional twenty on-site team members warranted the dedicated space, and the entire team was assembled there now.

The media had already labeled the killer the “hook man.” Jeff had no idea who had leaked that information. It wasn’t hard to imagine though, the scenes were gruesome and sensational, and as the number of victims accrued, the people privy to the information grew exponentially. It could have been anyone, from the poor souls who had stumbled upon the bodies, to some tech downloading the photos in the crime lab. Apparently, even the risk of career suicide was sometimes worth the fifteen minutes of fame.

“I’ve got nothing,” Dr. Raymond began. He was a wiry man, nearly as tall as Jeff, but nowhere near his build. He had a scruffy salt and pepper beard that didn’t match the thick patch of white hair on top of his head. While the doctor appeared several years older than Jeff, he was a relatively new addition to the Dallas Police Department, at least new by Jeff’s standards. “No hair, no tissue, no fibers. I found signs of pre-mortem physical trauma, but no defensive wounds. Nothing to indicate the victims put up any kind of resistance.” He was shaking his head. “It’s like they walked into a fist or something, and the next thing they knew, they were strung up like a side of beef.”

Jeff turned back to the board; reexamining the pictures he had spent the better part of the day becoming way too familiar with. “And with all the mess he left, you’re telling me our perp didn’t leave any trace evidence behind at all?” He asked incredulously.

“Nothing that we can find,” Dr. Raymond bristled. “And that isn’t just our local guys—your team from Quantico didn’t come up with anything, either.”

A low murmur filled the room, heads clearly turned toward their own allies, either agreeing or disagreeing with the doctor’s sentiment.

Jeff put his hands out to his sides in a peacekeeping gesture, slowly turning as he did. He ducked his head and smirked, “I’m not picking fights here, Doc. And I’m definitely not measurin’!” Then he stopped for a minute, letting the seriousness of the situation sink in and the grin on his face fade into a frown. “I’m just hoping we can all work together long enough to find this killer before he kills again.”

A hush fell across the room, and Dr. Raymond settled back down into his seat.

Jeff turned back to the board and looked at the names of the victims near the top, no lines connecting any of them. “So, have we found anything to link any of the vics?”

“Kind of,” Ramirez hesitated, glancing sideways at Douglas who was giving him a wary eye before continuing. “Looks like the second vic worked for the father of the first, like twenty years ago or so. It’s kind of vague, but I thought it was worth checking into.”

“That isn’t so hard to imagine,” Douglas interrupted, “Walczak worked for just about every drug runner in town at some time or another. He was a thug, sent out to collect from the deadbeats.”

“Except Cardenas isn’t a drug runner,” Ramirez reminded his partner. “He’s a businessman. Owns a major construction company, several off-shoot corporations, and lives up in Highland Park.”

“Well, not always,” Jeff joined in. “Rafael Cardenas? Is that who we’re talking about?” When Douglas nodded his head, Jeff continued, “He wasn’t always such an upstanding businessman. He had to get his seed money somewhere.”

“It just seemed like a place to start,” Ramirez jumped back into the discussion.

“It is,” Jeff agreed, drawing a dotted red line between Antonio Cardenas and Bernie Walczak. “First good idea I’ve heard.”

Ramirez lowered his head, he wasn’t looking to kiss up to the fed or anything, but he did want to see this Nightmare on Dallas Street end.

“Any leads on that cold case you mentioned, JD?” Douglas asked.

“No,” Jeff shook his head. “The husband was cleared at the time. He was at the hospital with one of the kids—appendicitis, I think. I’ve had half a dozen agents tracking him down to see if he can give us any information that might help us find some correlations, but so far, we haven't been able to locate him or his kids. They’ve fallen off the grid.”

“So…we got no forensics, no leads, and no witnesses,” Douglas summed it up. 

“Pretty much,” Jeff agreed, but his mind was elsewhere. 

**--**

 

“He’s beautiful!” Jared murmured, his hand pressed up against the glass. The nurse was holding the tiny bundle up close to the window so they could get a better look. “He looks more like me than Lilly does. I bet he’s mine.”

“They’re both yours,” Jensen replied, giving his husband a playful slap on the ass. “I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t do that.”

Jared yelped, turning toward Jensen quickly. “What? I’m not doing anything. I know they're both mine. I just meant that Lilly is just like you: all analytical and argumentative, even at four. Hell, she’ll probably get her CPA even younger than you did. But this guy, he looks like he was made to feel. That’s all me.”

“I feel,” Jensen pouted.

Jared grinned at his lover. “Of course you do, baby. But that is an entirely different kind of feel!” 

The slap that landed on his ass was not nearly as playful this time. “Ouch!” Jared complained before his eyes brightened again. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we write them each a letter? Every time we see something that tells us about what we think their personality is like, we should write it down. And then when they're older, they can read their letters.”

“Oh, shit!” Jensen complained, leaning forward and letting his forehead bounce against the glass a couple of times. His son was only four hours old, and already Jared was plotting out his life. “I guess they are going to have epic letters from you!”

“You’re a jerk!” Jared grumbled, reaching over to put his arm around Jensen’s shoulders and pull him close. “But we have a beautiful son.”

“We do,” Jensen agreed.

The nurse put her finger to her lips and walked back toward the bassinet. The lights dimmed, just like they always did.

**--**

 

Everything had started off so perfectly. He remembered it so well. He kissed his kids and sent them off to the museum—no, the gallery, he always got that wrong—with Jared, before he headed to the office a little before ten.

It was late spring in Dallas, and sometimes he went into work late that time of year. There were no pressing issues, and he liked to take the time to enjoy the awakening sun with his children and his husband. Bask in the warmth of the early morning daylight, and savor the aroma of the flowers before they succumbed to the heat and humidity of the early Dallas summer. Jensen knew that it wouldn’t be until late in the evening before he would be able to enjoy those moments with his children again. Late spring in Dallas was the same as summer to most of the rest of the world.

His office wasn’t large, but it was respectable, and he had a nice view, overlooking the museum park area. His office location actually seemed to mean more to Jared than it did to him. His view of the corner of Woodall and North Olive overlooked what many referred to as the museum tower and park area, although Jensen never could figure out what was the great allure. The tower was nothing more than another condo building, and the park area, well, apparently there were several notable galleries and museums there, none of which drew Jensen’s attention from the fifteenth floor, but his husband looked out and gasped at the view whenever he came to visit. 

Jared didn’t come that day.

When Jensen opened the door, a smile on his face as he thought about his lover and their children, even taking a moment to consider whether or not they would add any more to their family, he was surprised to see his boss sitting behind his own desk.

Not his boss, actually. More like the man who was everyone’s unspoken boss. The one who made Jensen’s boss quake when he got a phone call. And those calls only came from this man’s assistant—not the man himself. Jensen had only met Rafael Cardenas once, and that had been at a Christmas party before his children were even born. Jensen hadn’t attended any more such functions since then.

“Mr. Ackles,” Cardenas hummed, tapping his fingers on the desktop calendar. “I was hoping you would join us.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Jensen hurried to explain. “I often come in late this time of year so that I can enjoy the mornings with my family. But I assure you that I make up the time before I leave. Had I known you would be here, I would have made other arrangements.”

“That wasn’t necessary,” Cardenas continued. “It wasn’t my intent to alter your routine. I wanted you to enjoy your morning.” He pulled out a file and nodded toward one of the men standing near the desk. “It seems you’ve been concerned with some of our investments in Ecopetrol in Colombia. Mr. Koenig here was gracious enough to bring it to my attention.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Jensen began. He let his eyes sweep across the room and saw the smirk cross Paul’s face before he focused back on the man behind the desk, Jensen’s desk. “I felt like it was an unusual allocation of resources, and that as a senior accountant with this firm, it required my due diligence.”

“Even when your supervisor advised you against it?” Cardenas raised a questioning brow.

“More so then, sir,” Jensen stood up straight. “I felt like I owed this company, and its clients, everything I could give them. And at the time, Oxy was a better investment, but we had no resources allocated in it at all. So I felt like I owed you that much, sir. I felt like I owed the company at least an explanation as to why we were backing Ecopetrol so heavily.”

He hurried to move around the desk. “All my notes are right—” he stopped mid-sentence as he pulled out a drawer only to find it completely empty.

“I’ve got your notes, Mr. Ackles,” Cardenas reassured him. “You’ve constructed a fantastic argument. Now it is time to forget it all. And I think I can help you with that.”

The office doors opened, Lilly and Arron bursting through. A tall, unfamiliar man entered behind them. “Daddy! We never get to see you at work!” Lilly exclaimed. They jumped into his arms long enough to get their hugs, and then ran to the huge windows. “Papa is right, you can see everything from here!”

Jensen fell to his knees just behind his children. “Where’s papa?” he whispered, wrapping a protective arm around each of them. He was afraid. He was afraid to know. But it was a question he couldn’t afford not to ask.

Arron turned to him with a smile, and snuggled closer, tenderly touching the crinkles next to his father’s eye. “He went with your friends, Daddy. He told us not to be scared and that you would take care of us. He said it was okay. He told us to tell you he prob’ly wouldn’t be starving now.” Seeing the anguish on his father’s face, the little boy sniffled and wrapped his arms around Jensen’s shoulders. “It is okay, isn’t it, Daddy?”

“Of course it is,” Jensen recovered quickly. “Your papa would never lie.”

“Daddy,” Lilly grabbed her stomach and hunched over. “I don’t feel so good.”

Jensen lifted his son in one arm and lifted his other to touch his daughter's cheek still. “You’re burning up sweetheart. How long have you been sick?”

“Well…?” She looked at him sheepishly. “Since last night, a little bit. But I didn’t want to ruin the morning romp.”

 _Romp._ That was what Jared always called it. 

“Oh baby, you didn’t!” He assured her. And then turning to the men in the room, he growled, “My daughter is ill, I need to take her to the hospital. But you haven’t seen the last of me!”

“Take your child to the hospital, of course,” Cardenas soothed before he turned to the man who had come in with Jensen’s children, his tone changing to that of a commanding officer immediately. “You can leave now, Bernie. Go finish your job.”

Cardenas focus returned to Jensen. “You must take care of what is left of your family. And of course we have not seen the last of you. We expect great things from you, Mr. Ackles. All we have done today is make our position clear.” The man’s voice resumed that soft, consoling character, even if there was an ominous undertone.

It was like the guy’s tone changed with the flip of a switch, Jensen thought briefly, before he grabbed his children and ran out of the room. By the time he made it to the ground floor, an ambulance was waiting for him, and he spent the next three hours on autopilot, while tests were completed and Lilly underwent a simple, uncomplicated appendectomy. 

“You can come in, Mr. Ackles,” the nurse offered in a hushed tone. Jensen was so grateful that they were relaxed enough to ignore the sleeping two-year-old on his shoulder.

“She’s okay?” He asked.

“She’s fine,” the nurse smiled, “probably be sore for awhile and milk it for every stuffed animal and candy bar she can get, but she’ll be fine.”

Jensen ran a hand through his sleeping daughter’s hair. Not his Lilly, she didn’t milk anything. She would be up before anyone, and wondering why they wouldn’t let her walk out in the morning, he just knew it.

Where was Jared?

“I know she’s sleeping, but it’s best to turn off all the lights and let her know that it’s nighttime now. Let her get used to a normal schedule again,” the nurse explained.

“Of course,” Jensen replied, patting Arron on the back and walking out of the room before the lights dimmed. He couldn’t bear it. Even now, he couldn’t bear it.

When they found Jared the next day, guilt consumed Jensen. He had known something was wrong. He knew it was a disaster, but he hadn’t known how bad it was. And no matter how many times he had tried to contact Jared on his cell, all he could concentrate on at the time was his petite six-year-old daughter, racked in pain and struggling to hide it so that she could enjoy the morning romp with her family.

None of them knowing that it would be their last.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork for this was done by tiggerat1 on LJ. I would love to post the pics, but I haven't figured that out yet.

“So, Jamison, find anything on where the hooks were purchased?” Jeff asked. The second meeting of the day was coming to a conclusion, again with no new leads, and the third body was cold in the morgue for over twenty-four hours now. The seconds were ticking away in his head.

“Are you kidding me?” The veteran FBI agent shot back at once. “We’re in Texas, Morgan. Do you know how many cattle ranches there are in the Dallas/Fort Worth area alone? That doesn’t include the people who own horses. Oh, and don’t forget all the Future Farmers of America kids and their goats and sheep! It’s gonna take me a lot longer than a day to get a list of everyone who purchased more than half a dozen hay hooks in the last few months. I need a week at least.”

Jeff slammed his hand just below the primary photo of each victim, one after the other, with a second between each for effect. “We don’t have a week, Jamie!” He barked.

A hush fell across the room, not like a sudden cessation of sound, more like a muted hum of noise, just low enough that it wouldn’t interfere with the new, important event taking place. It wasn’t often Jeff raised his voice; he reserved that particular spectacle for occasions such as this one—when his entire team needed a reminder of just how much was at stake. 

He lowered his voice before continuing, in the ensuing silence he no longer needed to maintain the volume. “Nineteen years ago, a young man lost his life here in Dallas—a young man with two small children and a husband. He was beaten and then left to bleed to death, dangling from the rafters of a building not too far from where the third vic was discovered.” He turned and added a fourth gruesome crime scene photo to their board. It was clearly older than the rest, a small wrinkle on one side, a tiny dog ear creased in a corner. Jeff's assistant rushed around to pass briefing folders out to all the team members.

“There was a note in the pool of blood beneath his body that day,” Jeff’s voice began to rise again, it was hard to tell, as low and gravelly as it was, but he could feel it rumble in his chest. “It said, ‘Make sure this is the last and not just the first.’ I didn’t know what that meant then; don’t know what it means now. But I sure as hell know that the young man who died nineteen years ago wasn’t the last. And I’m damn sure we don’t have a week to wait for the next!”

“Yes, sir!” Jameson replied immediately, grabbing his notes and heading out of the room.

“What do we know about that first vic?” Ramirez asked hesitantly.

Jeff nodded to Belinda, his assistant ever since he had risen to the rank of “Special Agent.”

“Twenty-seven at the time of death,” Belinda began, rising from her chair and facing the group. “Jared Padalecki was Caucasian. Married to one Jensen Ackles, for eight years, and father to children Lilly, six, and Arron, two, when he was killed. He was a brilliant young artist, but had never sold any work to speak of or been in any major exhibitions. After his brutal murder, however, the art world couldn’t get a hold of his work fast enough.” Again she paused while the other team members scanned through their briefing folders. “It appears as if an offshore corporation named ‘Lilarcor’ secured the rights to all of Padalecki’s art, and has selectively allocated a few for distribution into the marketplace every few years. This strategy significantly increased their value. The last one sold for more than half a million dollars two years ago.”

“Lilarcor? Are you serious?” Ramirez asked. “That’s the name of some sword on an online role-playing game, isn’t it?”

“How would you know?” Douglas laughed.

“Hey, I’ve got nephews!” Ramirez covered.

“Yeah, right!” Douglas threw his wadded up napkin at the younger man.

“Trust me,” Belinda continued harshly, “I can google, too. But this company was established long before that game was released. We don’t have precise dates or ownership information though. The island of Martinique isn’t exactly enthusiastic about sharing their banking and corporate financial information with us.”

“So we have a dead artist, a missing family, and a corporation we can’t trace,” Douglas summarized, scanning the brief.

“Pretty much,” Jeff agreed. “Have you met with Cardenas yet?”

“Nah,” Douglas replied. “We tried right after we found the connection between him and Walczak, but his people claimed he was out of town on business. We have a meet scheduled in the morning.”

Jeff nodded, “Okay, good. Let’s—”

“Boss!” The agent who had been monitoring the radio called out. “Shit! Sounds like we have another one!”

“Goddamn!!” Jeff swore, grabbing his jacket and running out of the room. “Call me the details. Douglas, Ramirez, now that the FBI’s no secret in this investigation, you guys are with me.” 

The two detectives jumped out of their seats and ran to catch up with him.

“Morgan,” Ramirez panted as they jogged toward the car, “I didn’t think of it at the time, but, ‘Lilarcor?’, that sounds a lot like the kids’ names, right?”

“Could be,” Jeff nodded, jumping into the awaiting SUV and heading to what was sure to be another appetite suppressant.

**--**

“Again!”

“I can’t,” Jensen gasped, lying sprawled out on the mat, the breath knocked out of him. It was the third time in as many minutes.

“Get up!” The Master growled. He knelt down on one knee, leaning over Jensen’s face and letting the sweat of his exertion drip down onto him. “You told me you wanted to learn. You said it didn’t matter what it took. _This_ is what it takes!”

He stood again and reached a hand out to Jensen. This time, Jensen took it.

“Again!” The Master repeated.

Jensen lowered his frame and lifted his hands. His legs were noodles, his arms lead weights, but he could do it, he had to.

* * *

 

“Daddy!” Lauren cried out, running and jumping into his arms. “I didn’t think you would be home this early. Miss Kelly said you would be very late.”

Jensen barely had time to drop his gym bag so he could catch his ten-year-old. “Uhhnn!” He groaned. “Warn me, baby.” He tried to smile, but it was forced at best.

The little girl pulled back, staring intently at her father and then wriggling around in his arms until he placed her back on the ground. “What’s wrong, Daddy?” She asked even as she reached up to pull the scarf from around his neck. Chicago was much colder in late March than Dallas, but Jensen was used to it by now.

“Nothing, sweetie, I promise.” He offered his hand up in an oath and then bent down to whisper in her ear, even that slow movement hurt. “I was at the gym trying to pretend I’m not getting old, but guess what?”

“What?” Lauren played along.

“I can’t pretend anymore. I am getting old!”

“No you’re not!” She giggled, slapping him on the shoulder, and even that made Jensen cringe.

“Well, if I’m not old, I’m at least really out of shape. I’m going to have to go to the gym a lot more often now, okay?” He asked, looking seriously at his daughter.

“Will you still be able to help me with my homework?”

“Of course,” Jensen grinned, “Is that the reason for the overly zealous greeting?”

“The what?”

“Yep, you need my help,” he laughed, leading her to his den. “Where is Alec?”

“He’s doing what Alec always does,” she rolled her eyes dramatically.

Jensen laughed out loud; he hadn’t expected to see that particular gesture for a few more years. “So…painting, sketching, play-doh sculpting…which is it this evening?”

“I think he likes to paint the most,” Lauren smiled. No matter how she might behave, she was proud of her little brother. “You know, Daddy, he really is amazing.”

They were in the den before Jensen responded. He settled down behind his desk and Lauren dumped her backpack on one of the chairs in front of it. She walked over to his bookshelves like she often did. This time she reached up, barely able to see the titles on the top shelf now. She pulled one out and looked at it curiously. “How come you have so many books about accounting, Daddy?”

Jensen stood up as quickly as his sore legs would allow him and moved around to meet her, replacing the book gently. “It was just an old hobby, sweetheart. Nothing I pay much attention to these days. Now show me your homework.”

**--**

Spring was special. It always had been. And it seemed like the roses celebrated it, too. He couldn’t walk along the path without being overwhelmed by the feel of them. It wasn’t just their scent or their presence; it was every memory they refreshed in his mind. He loved them most for that.

Jensen completed his usual ritual, and flipped on the light. This was amazing. It felt the same each time he came back to their house in Dallas since Jared...well, for a lot of years. 

“Jared!” He gasped aloud, his eyes filled with awe. “How did you—?”

“Shh, baby,” Jared walked toward him seductively; dressed in those same low-slung, loose white pants he had worn on their wedding night. It was too humid on Martinique for much else, and Jared was never one to be uncomfortable. “You’re a college graduate now. You have a new job. And tonight is your wedding night, enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?” Jensen smirked, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah,” Jared whispered against his neck. “Want me to teach you how? I’m a good teacher.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jensen repeated, nodding against Jared’s temple, “teach me.”

“Okay, baby. First you have to lose the clothes, they’re way too tight for the heat here.” Jared mouthed against his throat. “Do you need a hand with that?”

Jensen swallowed hard. He couldn’t speak; all he could do was move his head in an up and down motion, hoping to convey his sincerity.

“Damn!” Jared swore. “I forgot how much I adore this night. You are everything I’ve ever wanted. Let’s go lie down on the patio so we can listen to the waves.”

Jensen nodded again, clutching Jared’s hand and following the younger man out onto the porch—the humidity hit Jensen harder than he had remembered. 

Jared grabbed at his clothing, stripping Jensen quickly. He pulled the drawstring of his own pants, allowing them to pool around his feet, and stepped out casually. Jensen didn’t know how Jared managed to stay so calm; he himself was wracked with arousal and nervous tension. It was their wedding night after all!

Without even a pause, Jared fell back into the hammock swinging between the two support pillars on the porch and pulling Jensen down on top of him. “Yeah,” he moaned when their cocks met. “You’re doing just perfect.”

Jensen struggled to lift up onto one elbow, and used his other hand to cup Jared’s cheek. He gazed into those beautiful, lust-blown hazel eyes, hoping to see them forever. 

“Look,” Jared pointed out over the water even as he bucked up, providing just enough friction to force a moan from between Jensen’s lips. “It’s a full moon. Isn’t it beautiful? I think I’ll paint it.”

“Paint me out of it,” Jensen panted, not taking his eyes off of his lover. He liked the way the moonlight added to Jared’s allure—highlighting his cheekbones, and masking the color of his eyes just enough that Jensen had to stare long and hard to see it. He licked a long strip from Jared’s collarbone up to his ear, and thrust down in sync with Jared’s rhythm.

“God, Jen!” Jared slapped half-heartedly at him. “I’m not painting porn!”

Jensen sped up, the sway of the hammock becoming more chaotic adding to the erotic atmosphere. “Come on, Jared,” he encouraged, reaching down to wrap a hand around them both. “Come for me.”

“Yeah, baby!” Jared cried out, thrusting up into Jensen’s hand wildly. Everything Jared did, he did with enthusiasm. It didn’t take him long to spill, but he kept up the motion until Jensen crescendoed and joined him on the other side of orgasm.

They lay together for several moments catching their breath as the clouds moved in and dulled the glimmer of the moon.

Jensen rolled off the bed, landing on the floor with a thump, the hammock long gone. He rose to his knees, clutching his chest, and sobbed. “God! It hurts, Jared! It hurts so goddamn much!”

“It’s okay, baby,” Jared whispered, hidden somewhere in the shadows. This never happened. Jensen looked around warily. Jared never talked to him when the lights were out. “It won’t be long now. I’m waiting for you. And it’s not so bad here…in the dark.”

**--**

“Hey, boss,” Belinda murmured, pulling a barstool out and slipping into the tight space next to Jeff at the bar. “You okay? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you like this.”

“Yeah, doin’ great!” Jeff huffed into his drink. He lifted it a few inches off the bar and listened to the ice chink against the glass as he swirled it around. He didn’t even bother looking at her, but he did lean his shoulder into her touch. “I fucked up, Belinda. I really fucked this up!” He raised his other hand to his brow, and covered his eyes, setting the drink down on the bar an inch before it met the surface—it made just enough noise and mess to draw the bartender’s attention.

“We’re good,” Belinda said to the bartender, wiping up the spill with a handful of bar napkins and offering her friendliest smile. “Can I get a Diet Coke?”

“You’re driving, I take it?” The bartender asked as he filled her glass from the gun.

“Promise,” Belinda winked at him, and the man walked away without another word. Once the attention was off of them again, she turned back to Jeff. “Hey, talk to me. I’m serious. It hasn’t been this bad since your divorce.”

“Worse,” Jeff insisted. “This is worse. My divorce was a disaster, but it didn’t get anybody killed. If I’d found that killer back then, we wouldn’t have four more dead bodies now.”

Belinda looked at him for a few minutes, the silence growing between them. “That’s not really it, though, is it?” She asked, her brows drawing together as she scrutinized him. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Nothing I know for sure yet, more like a feeling,” Jeff admitted.

“Bartender!” Belinda called out, patting her hand on the bar to get his attention. When the man rushed over, she sweetened her tone. “I think I need to get my friend home, can you get me his tab?”

**--**

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Andrews, I didn’t want to call you away from the office.” Miss Kelly was apologizing the second Jensen threw the door open.

“No, no,” he assured her. The woman had worked for him for many years now, and he valued her assistance. “I want you to call me. Where is he?” Jensen was already looking around their twenty-fourth floor apartment. They had lived here for the past five years, and he was pretty certain this would be the last home he shared with his children. Lauren had been accepted to Northwestern for the fall term, and it was looking more and more like Alec would follow in Jared’s footsteps. He had his sights set on the prestigious Chicago School of the Arts Institute. Jensen’s Michigan Avenue apartment would keep him a part of his children’s lives for several years to come.

“The kitchen,” Miss Kelly nodded toward the door. “Be careful. It’s a shambles.”

Jensen walked through the swinging door, assessing the scene as he went. He hadn’t been at the office; he didn’t have an office anymore. He had been between his Criminology and Introduction to Forensic Science classes, and by the looks of his kitchen, this was going to be a good case study.

“Alec!” He called out sharply, lowering his tone just enough to make sure his son took him seriously. “What the hell is going on here?” He scanned the kitchen. All the bulbs were broken with the exception of the tiny lights glowing over the stove, and Jensen used their illumination to evaluate the situation as best as he could. There was a canvas on the easel near the shuttered window—painted all black. The other paints and brushes were strewn around the room, like a toddler had thrown a tantrum. A thin layer of glass from the broken bulbs covered the floor.

“Dad!” Alec sobbed, curled up in a ball and trying to hide his already lanky frame in the corner of the room. “I—I don’t know. I was painting, and suddenly it just…hurt.”

Jensen rushed to where his son was huddled on the ground. He pulled the young teen into his arms. “What hurt?” He asked, rubbing soothing circles against Alec’s back, not caring as the shards of glass sliced into his knees.

“The light,” Alec admitted. “Sometimes it just hurts to see. Sometimes I just want to be in the dark.”

Jensen looked around the room, still hugging his son. “Oh no, Alec. You were meant to be in the light.” He kissed the top of his son’s head and sank down against the wall, bringing Alec to rest on top of him. “Your papa, he loved the light. And I see it in everything you do. Don’t lose that, son.”

Alec sniffled, catching his breath. “Papa?”

Jensen nodded.

“Will you tell me more?” Alec asked hesitantly.

Jensen smirked and rubbed his son’s head affectionately. “Yeah. He was so much like you, Alec. He saw the best in everyone. He saw the best in me. He painted like he lived—brilliantly.”

“Why don’t you show me?” Alec pulled away just enough to look at his father in the dim light.

“You’ll see soon enough, son,” Jensen murmured, pulling him close again. “But for now, will you do something for me?”

“What?” The young teen asked.

Jensen nodded at the canvas. “Paint me some light.”

**--**

Jensen washed his hands in the bathroom sink like he always did, and headed for the kitchen. He had a grin on his face as he flipped the switch. Four down, only one to go, and his kids would be free. The others involved had already been lost to death, prison, or insignificance over the last nineteen years. In some ways it was good that he had waited so long to free his children of their burden. Now, there was just one left, but he was the big one. Jensen looked forward to seeing his husband tonight.

“What happened to Arron?” Jared asked, a frown on his face. That never happened. Jared was his light.

“I—I…What?” Jensen stuttered as Jared confronted him. He took a deep breath, sniffing the air. There were no cookies baking in the oven.

“Why is he so upset?” Jared insisted.

Jensen shook his head, puzzling the pieces of his memories together. “He’s not, Jared,” he assured his lover. “He was. But that was a long time ago. Our son is doing great now.”

He pulled Jared close and felt the tension drain from his husband. “Oh thank God!” Jared released a sigh against Jensen’s neck. “What happened? What did I miss?”

“He missed you,” Jensen explained, kissing his husband’s head like he had done his son’s so many years ago. “He didn’t get the chance to know you, but he is still so much like you, Jared. I can’t wait until the day he is free to tell the world that he is your son.”

“But he is okay?” Jared asked again, eagerly seeking reassurance. 

“Absolutely. He is a brilliant art student, nearing graduation, who I am guessing is only days from announcing that he is the long-hidden son of the famous artist, Jared Padalecki.” Jensen smirked as he sat down on a stool and pulled Jared between his widespread knees.

“I can’t believe you were so late tonight,” Jared blurted out, changing the subject abruptly. “Do you know what day this is?”

“I do,” Jensen whispered, running a hand down his lover’s back and nuzzling at his neck. “It’s our twenty-seventh anniversary. And you look just as good as you did the day I met you—maybe even better. Did you think I would forget?”

“No,” Jared smiled in return. “I just wanted to make sure I was still important.”

“Jared,” Jensen gasped, “You are all that I have. The kids are nearly grown. Soon they will be safe. And then it's just you and me.”

“Jensen?” Jared pulled away, moisture welling in the corners of his eyes.

“God, baby!” Jensen swore. It was so unlike him to use such an endearment, that was Jared’s thing, but he didn’t know what else to say. Jared was always his support. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve just…I’ve just missed so much!” Jared sobbed, dropping to his knees and grabbing Jensen around his waist.

“No,” Jensen shook his head adamantly, pulling his lover’s hands away, and urging him to his feet. “You haven’t missed anything. You’ve been with me all along, haven’t you? _Haven’t you?!_ ”

It was terrifying: A moment that could crush everything Jensen had built his life upon. Jared had been there for him through everything. Through the fevers and vaccinations, the school registrations and those unholy PTA meetings. Through Lilly’s—Lauren’s—law school interviews, and Arron's—Alec’s—nail-biting last minute acceptance to the School of the Arts Institute. There was nothing Jensen had done alone for their children, was there?

“Yes,” Jared nodded, wiping his nose against Jensen’s sleeve. “I just never get to talk to them.”

“I’m sorry.” Jensen’s shoulders sagged. He still held his lover close, but he lost so much strength with that admission.

“No, no,” Jared stood up straighter, pounding on Jensen’s shoulder. “No! You don’t get to be sorry. You’re everything, Jensen. You’re the only reason I get to see them at all! Don’t you dare be sorry!”

“Hey, hey!” Jensen soothed, grabbing Jared’s hand away from his already aching joint. “Okay. I’m not sorry. We have two great kids. And just as you suspected, Lilly is a lot like me and Arron is so much like you. Can we enjoy our anniversary now? At least for a little while?”

Jared laughed. “Enjoy means ‘fuck,’ right?”

“Yeah,” Jensen agreed. “I’m pretty sure that’s what it means. And I’d like to _enjoy_ you while I still have enough strength to do it.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Jared whispered.

“Nah,” Jensen murmured in reply. “I want to stay down here tonight.” He guided Jared into the living room. The couch was there, that and an end table with a lamp on it, but that was all. He lay down on the sofa and gestured toward Jared. “Come on. I love it when you ride me, and it’s my birthday.”

“Not your birthday,” Jared smirked, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them off his narrow hips. “Anniversary. That’s different.”

“Will you still ride me?” Jensen asked.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Jared breathed as he straddled his lover.

“Then it’s as good as my birthday!” Jensen grinned. He reached up to touch his lover reverently despite his joke. He placed a hand on each hip and pulled him forward until Jared’s erection brushed against his mouth. He let his lips part, and the familiar weight settle on his tongue. Jensen moaned as he closed his mouth around it, applying just a hint of suction.

“Mmmm, yeah,” Jared groaned. And when Jensen opened his eyes, Jared was arching above him, trying to push into his mouth and running his hands through his long, rumpled hair. That sight was all Jensen needed to let go of his lover’s hips and lie back as Jared pushed in, seeking the warm, wet channel he was offering.

“Yeah, y-yeah,” Jared was practically stuttering along with his hips. Jensen reached around to grab those firm cheeks and guide his lover deeper. He put all his effort into swallowing hard and then did it again before he pulled back just enough for a quick breath. The next time, Jared advanced on his own, pushing against the back of his throat and groaning loudly when Jensen hummed around the length in his throat. His jaw was aching, but it was worth it to see Jared writhing like this above him.

Only minutes later, Jared’s thrusts became more shallow and erratic until he spilled with an “Oh God, baby!” into Jensen’s mouth. Jensen swallowed it down, savoring the flavor even as he struggled to catch his breath.

“God, Jared!” He swore when he could. “Careful, I’m an old man now. If you keep that up, you’re gonna break me!”

Jared leaned down for a kiss before he asked, “What do you mean? You’re only a year older than me?”

Jensen looked up at his twenty-seven-year-old lover who was currently lubing up two fingers to prepare himself. “Uh, yeah…I know. I’m just feeling a whole lot older right now.”

Jared reached back, grabbing Jensen’s cock and holding it firmly as he slowly lowered himself onto it. Jared moaned, his long neck stretching out as he did, and Jensen reached out to caress his husband’s beautiful body. There would never be another Jared. A moment later, Jensen’s baser instincts took over, and he grasped his lover’s hips, pulling them together. 

“Harder,” Jared encouraged, leaning forward and running his hands through Jensen’s hair. “See? Not too old.”

Jensen continued to thrust up, holding Jared’s hips in place and seeking his climax. Soon, he felt his lover’s burgeoning erection pressing against his abdomen. “Again?” He murmured, lavishing sloppy wet kisses along the length of Jared’s neck even as he reached down to give Jared a hand. “Already?”

“Healthy young man, what can I say?” Jared groaned as soon as he felt Jensen’s fist close around him. He tightened his muscles in appreciation, and smirked at his husband’s answering groan. “Come on, baby,” Jared encouraged. “It’s our anniversary, I want to come with you.”

Jensen’s head fell back against the pillows. He thrust up to meet Jared’s motions, and matched them with his hand. He wanted this with his husband. “Yeah, Jared,” he hissed, “I’m close. Come on! Come for me!”

Jared cried out as he came. It didn’t take much more than Jensen’s words to trigger him, and he hoped that his orgasm would do the same for Jensen.

“Jared!” Jensen yelled, pulling his lover close and grunting as he felt his cock spurt deep inside the man he remembered. 

Jared collapsed against his chest and the breath swooshed out of Jensen at the same time that Jared reached toward the lamp on the table.

“No!” Jensen yelled, trying to pull a hand out from beneath his lover to stop him. 

All he managed to do was propel Jared toward the table, and the lamp came crashing to the floor. Jared gasped, “I’m sor—”

The light went out. Jensen looked around. He was alone.


	3. Chapter 3

5 PM, and the entire team began gathering in the conference room for the second meeting of the day—all who weren’t off running tests or searching for information that Jeff had requested.

It was still considered early in the day for a team with such a specialized task. But after more than a week on the case for the Dallas Homicide Unit, and several days for the FBI, it was certain that no matter who spoke up first, the voice would be infused with exhaustion.

Jeff headed that way, sure he would be last to enter the room—it took him a few minutes to get through the crowd of reporters. Once he was identified as the lead FBI investigator on the case, he couldn’t get past them without at least a cursory statement. Over the years, Jeff had become the master of those. He stood tall, kept calm and gave the public what they wanted: The certainty that the FBI was working diligently on the case, that they were working in cooperation with the finest police department he had personally ever worked with, and that they would apprehend the perpetrator soon.

That didn’t settle the rumble in the pit of his stomach though. Nothing about the way this criminal worked fit into the picture perfect model of a serial killer or that of a spree killer, either. Jeff had learned from the best at Quantico, and he had put what he learned into practice over the years, honing those skills in the field. But these crimes just weren’t forming those normal patterns. So he took his time getting to the conference room, stairwells were great for creating intentional delays, and he could use the media as the excuse for his tardiness.

Spree killers just didn’t have such calculated kill scenes like this murderer did. But serial killers, well, they built up to their crimes. They needed their fix, true, but they didn’t commit one murder nineteen years ago and then commit four more, all these years later, within a matter of days. No, serial killers required a cooling off period between kills; it was kind of a rule. A pretty well accepted rule.

But there was a note at the first kill scene. All those years ago, there was that note…

“Morgan!” The stairwell door swung open a few feet above Jeff, and Ramirez was standing there. “We were starting to wonder if you were going to need an escort to get past the media.”

Jeff snorted, blinking up at the younger man to brush aside his thoughts for a moment. “Damn! I’ve got my twenty. The minute that happens, take my shield and send me to Florida.”

The younger man laughed. “Texas isn’t good enough for retirement?”

“They say the fishing is better in Florida,” Jeff replied.

“You fish?” Ramirez looked at him skeptically.

“Hell no! But it’s retirement. You gotta do something different.” Jeff patted the other officer’s arm and brushed by him on his way to the conference room. “Let’s go see what’s brewing.”

“Agent Morgan,” Ramirez called as Jeff started down the hall. His tone softened when Jeff turned back toward him. “There was something I looked into on my own, something a little…different. I was hoping I could talk to you about it.”

“Sure,” Jeff replied sincerely. “Let’s get through all the bullshit, and then we’ll talk, okay?”

“Yeah,” Ramirez nodded. 

Jeff never really knew why he did things the way he did, but they always seemed to work out for him. Well, except for nineteen years ago—that time he hadn’t played it the way he’d wanted to. So now he was going with his gut, and his gut was telling him to talk to Diego Ramirez after the meeting was done.

“Okay, guys, listen up!” Jeff called as he entered, and the rumble of voices came to a halt. “Let’s get this thing started.”

Several heads nodded as everyone took their seats and Jeff made his way to the front of the room. He pointed to the latest crime scene photo—the one that had been added at the morning conference—and asked, “Okay, what have we learned about our latest vic? You wanna start, Reynolds?”

“Sure, boss,” the young FBI agent answered immediately before nodding to the woman standing next to him. “Detective Scott and I identified the victim as Paul Robert Koenig, 51. He divorced ten years ago, and his ex-wife moved to Boston shortly after that. As far as we can tell, they’ve had no significant contact since then. No children. He was a senior investment advisor and a CPA for Jonathon Graham Investments, LLC. It’s a subsidiary of J.P. Morgan Investment Bank, but it has only been in existence for about five years. It came under the shield of J.P. Morgan as a whole, but we don’t know if it was a new company or the buyout of an existing one.”

“Find out.” Jeff interrupted. “What do we know about the scene?”

“No signs of forced entry,” Detective Scott jumped in. “It looks like the victim knew the perp and let him into the house.”

“Or maybe our boy can pick a lock,” Douglas butted in. “What?” He asked when Scott glared at him. “We were all there. My twelve-year-old kid coulda picked that front door lock. What do you think, JD?”

“So, no forced entry,” Jeff began his summary, “And either the victim knew the perp, or the perp really wanted into that particular house. That means this wasn’t random. What about the scene?”

“Remarkably similar to the third,” Reynolds started. “I mean the third current case. The guy was strung up by a chain in the middle of his living room. The plaster was broken away all around a beam in the ceiling, and the chain was tossed over it. There was a hook imbedded in the meat of each shoulder. I’m still trying to figure out how the perp got the guy to hold still while he did all that. Do you think there might be more than one perp?”

“Could be, but I doubt it. It’s hard enough for a killer to leave a brutal crime scene like that one without leaving any forensic fingerprints…but two perps? And multiple crime scenes? Nearly impossible.” Jeff replied. He paused for a moment to stare at the crime scene photos. He’d been there the night before, but it was always good to get a fresh look at the scene. He turned back toward his team. “Do you have anything to add, doc?”

Dr. Raymond stood up and walked toward Jeff. “Well, I’m pretty sure I know how he got his victims to stay still. It’s not much, but it’s something. It wasn’t so evident on the first two vics, but on these last two, it was pretty obvious.” 

He stopped long enough to set his laptop down and hook it up so that he could display his pictures on the blank part of the white board. Ramirez walked to the back of the room and flipped off the light so that the slideshow was more visible.

“The first victim had several contusions to the brain,” Dr. Raymond began, using the tip of his pen to point them out, “Here, here, here, and even here. So I really didn’t associate any particular one with a ‘knock-out punch’ or ‘stun blow’—whichever term you want to use. And the second victim was a chronic alcoholic. His brain showed so many areas of new and old damage, that I couldn’t associate any specific injury with the killer. And since we knew that blood loss was the actual cause of death, I didn’t look any further—until these last two victims came in. Both of these men are similar in age, and both had a single contusion to the brain located in the right temporal lobe. Either temporal lobe is the best area to land a stunning blow. A perp who knows what he’s doing can knock his victim unconscious with a single strike just above and in front of the ear. It’s usually done with a fist, but the heel of the hand or a kick work just as well.”

“So our perp is left-handed?’ Jeff proposed.

“It’s possible,” Dr. Raymond responded. “But if he knows what he’s doing, the way it’s looking like he does, he can do it with either hand or either foot—whichever he chooses. But I don’t see anything to suggest that a weapon was used.”

Jeff shook his head and changed the subject momentarily, “Any forensics?”

“I’m still going through all the evidence from the scene, but so far, nothing.”

“So our victim wasn’t random. Our perp knows what he’s doing, and he knows how to cover his tracks,” Jeff summed up the meeting so far. He paused for a moment to see if anyone had anything to add before moving on.

“Okay, Douglas, Ramirez, you guys met with Cardenas today, right?” 

“Yeah,” Douglas began. He pulled out his notes. “We didn’t get much, though. Cardenas played the typical grieving father. Hard to buy though, when he supposedly just returned from a business trip out of state.”

“What did he say about the connection with Walczak?” Jeff asked, leaning back against the podium.

“He said that if the guy worked for him twenty years ago, he was probably some construction worker or something.” Douglas looked up from his notes to scan the faces in the room, and then looked back down. “He said that he didn’t know who the guy was, and he was sure his son didn’t know him either. Then he asked us to leave so that his family could continue to grieve in peace.”

Jeff tapped his chin, thinking, huffed out a breath, and then pulled away from the podium. “What did you think of the guy, Ramirez?”

“I thought he was lying through his teeth, sir.” Ramirez didn’t hesitate. “We both did. His eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning, well, maybe more like _día de los muertos_.” Half the room chuckled at the reference, the other half, those that didn’t know anything about the ‘day of the dead’ just sat and waited to ask about it later. “Both Detective Douglas and I believe that he knew exactly who Walczak was. I’m not convinced that he believes there is a connection between his son and Walczak though, he seemed much more genuine when he made those statements.”

Jeff nodded approvingly. “Good job guys. Anything more for now?” The sound of his phone ringing on the podium broke the silence. Belinda rose to answer it. “Okay then, we all know what to do tonight. Let’s get to it.”

As paperwork started to shuffle and chairs scraped on the tile, Belinda walked over to him. “That was the Assistant Director. He said the Police Chief has been trying to get you in on one of his press conferences and that so far you’ve managed to avoid all of his so-called ‘invitations.’”

Jeff smirked, “That would be a fair assessment.” He reached over to grab his own notes. Ramirez was walking up to meet him.

“Well apparently, the Assistant Director has graciously accepted on your behalf,” Belinda grinned back, patting him on the back. “Because, as he put it, ‘you will be there, with a smile on your face, and a few well-chosen words for the media,’ at 8 PM.”

“Dammit!” Jeff swore. Ramirez was at his side now, and took a cautious step back. “Not you, Ramirez. Look, I’ve got to go play nice with the media and the Chief of Police. You can meet me at my hotel room, say around ten?”

The young man nodded.

“Good. Belinda will give you directions. She and I will probably be pulling an all-nighter, so you won’t be interrupting.” He grabbed his papers and headed for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Belinda, meet me at the hotel. We don’t have long to prepare for this thing.”

“I’ll be there,” she said.

“Is he always like that?” Ramirez asked her as she handed him the hotel information.

“This is the calm side of him,” she winked, “wait until you see him with his teeth sunk in.”

**--**

Jensen walked the mile plus down Michigan Avenue from his apartment to Millennium Park. Lauren had told him he could find Alec there playing basketball with his friends; it’s what he did whenever his mind wouldn’t let him paint. Jensen liked this distraction—it was better than the canvas after canvas of black he had seen before Alec learned to cope so well.

It was a warm early September afternoon, but the breeze kept it pleasant as Jensen walked by “Cloud Gate.” Everyone in Chicago called it “The Bean” of course. Where the idea of “Cloud Gate” had come from he couldn’t begin to guess, although if he asked Jared, he was sure to get an answer of some ethereal sort. 

He was still thinking about that nearly fifteen minutes later when he found Alec on one of the basketball courts on the far side of the park. Millennium Park was just a concept when Jensen first brought his children to Chicago. He still wished he’d had the opportunity to bring them here back then. But even if it had been open at the time, he was busy getting his degrees and learning the skills he needed to know. And they were busy learning new names that he insisted were theirs all along. Then they were studying and growing. And finally, they started making friends and being happy, things Jensen had forgotten how to do a long time ago.

“Hey,” He called out, getting his son’s attention when the ball went out of bounds. “Can I join in?”

Alec looked toward his father and jogged over. “Guys, my dad’s here. We’ve got an even number now.” The other teens hooted for a few seconds and Alec continued in a lower voice, “What do you want to be? Shirts or skins?”

“Are you kidding me?” Jensen glared up at his son. Even at seventeen, Alec was already an inch taller than his father. “I’m surrounded by kids less than half my age, I think I’ll keep my shirt on!”

“Okay Dad, but that puts you on my team. Don’t embarrass me.”

They played two games, full-court, and Jensen was pretty sure that if anyone suggested a third, he was going to have to fake an injury to get out of it. But no one did. The guys slowly drifted off in different directions, and a few minutes later, just he and Alec were left, sitting on the bench and drinking the last of the Gatorade.

“Where were you today?” Alec asked him. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to campus with me this morning, but you weren’t there when I got up.”

“I’m sorry, Alec,” Jensen answered, lowering his head. “We already had all of your first semester classes picked out at orientation. I kind of thought your first real day at the Art Institute might be something you wanted to do by yourself.”

“Coulda asked,” Alec shrugged. “But it’s okay. I guess I did kind of want to go alone. I was just thinking you might want to go along, you know, with Lauren already out of college and in law school now.”

Jensen grinned at his son before punching him half-heartedly in the shoulder. “I’m not your mom!”

“I know!” Alec protested, rubbing his arm. “But really. Where were you?”

“Class,” Jensen replied matter-of-factly. 

“Ah,” Alec nodded in understanding. “What degree are you getting now?”

“No degree this time,” Jensen said, “Just taking a few classes to keep my brain functioning in its waning years. You know, to fend off ‘empty nest syndrome.’”

This time, it was Alec who threw a punch.

“Ow!” Jensen protested.

“So what were you studying today?”

Jensen stared at his son for a moment before shrugging casually. “Toxicology.”

“Toxicology,” Alec repeated with a blank stare. “I’m never going to get you into art history am I?”

Jensen put his bottle down and grabbed the ball, dribbling a few times and raising his eyebrows in challenge. When Alec took the bait, Jensen backed up toward the court. “Nah. No art history for me. I already know everything about art that I want to know.”

Alec sprinted toward his father and stole the ball. He twirled around and returned to the bench, his hands gripping the ball so tightly, there was no doubt the game was over. When Jensen returned, Alec caught his questioning gaze.

“I know who my papa is,” Alec whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jensen dropped down on the bench, reaching to put an arm around his son, but Alec pulled away before he could. 

“You know who he is?” Jensen asked instead.

Alec simply nodded.

“Then you know how he died.” 

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, but Alec nodded again anyway. 

“There are people out there who would kill you if they knew who you were. They would kill Lauren, too. If they could find you, they would kill you because of me. They would kill you because I know who they are. No one knows that, just you and me.” Jensen kept his voice low and tried to explain without giving any details. He did his best to smile at his son, but he failed miserably, the tears in his eyes were testimony to that. “I’m doing my best to fix it, and I will, I swear. You are your papa’s legacy, and someday you can let everyone know that, but promise not to tell anyone for now. I don’t w-want to lose you…I c-can’t!”

Alec’s eyes widened. His father never cried. He never lost his cool or showed such emotion. He threw his arms around his father and cried along with him. “I promise, Dad. I swear!”

Time passed and the tears dried. Jensen sat back and he looked at his son for a few minutes. He brushed a lock of brown hair away from his son’s eyes so that he could see them better. “Lauren never figured it out,” he chuckled, “God, you know that girl figures everything out, but she didn’t. How did you?”

“She’s hardly a girl anymore, Dad,” Alec smiled shyly in return. There was pride in his father’s words. “But for me, it was easy. We have paintings hanging all over our apartment, but you only ever look at one. And you only look at it when you think we don’t see you.”

“’Moonlit Bay on Martinique’,” Jensen whispered.

“I know,” Alec replied, rubbing his hand along his father’s back. “The only remaining unsold Jared Padalecki original. No one has seen it since the time a photographer snuck inside Papa’s studio just after his death. But we see it in your den everyday.”

“Yeah,” Jensen sighed. “It was on our honeymoon. He looked up and said he was going to paint it. I told him to paint me out, and he assured me he had no intentions of including me in it.”

“He must have had a good reason,” Alec consoled.

“Oh yeah,” Jensen laughed, “He had a very good reason. But I’m not sharing that with you, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want me to, either.”

“Okaaay,” Alec grinned, his tone changing as his father’s demeanor did. “So, no more said on that subject. But about the painting—”

“It’s yours,” Jensen interrupted. “When you can tell everyone who your papa is, the painting is yours.” Alec tried to object, but Jensen just spoke over him. “I want you to have it! You say I look at it all the time? Well, every time I do, it is with the thought that it will be in your hands one day soon.”

“Okay, Dad,” Alec swallowed. The sun was dipping low, and the sweat on his skin was starting to give him a chill. “I-I would be honored to have it.”

“Good,” Jensen responded curtly, standing and heading toward the apartment. He looked back to see Alec still sitting. “Well, what are you waiting for? Don’t you have classes tomorrow?”

**--**

“This all of them?” Jeff glanced at all the papers and photos spread across the three tabletops in the living room component of his two-room suite—one of the benefits of being an out-of-town Special-Agent-In-Charge.

“It’s all I could find marked ‘Jared Padalecki’ in your attic,” Belinda replied. “I only had about two hours on my turnaround flight yesterday, but I think I got them all.”

“You got them all,” Jeff looked at her confidently. “You would have missed the flight if you hadn’t.”

“You don’t know me that well,” Belinda narrowed her eyes.

“I think I do,” Jeff countered. “You’ve never let me down before. And you know how important this is to me.”

“I do,” she admitted. “I guess I just don’t know why.”

Jeff let his fingers linger over one of the photos of the crime scene from nineteen years ago—he kept copies of all his notes and all the photos from every unsolved case he had ever worked. Jared Padalecki had been his first, but definitely not his last. It was fitting, kind of like the note.

“You know, in the very beginning, everyone wanted to blame the husband, but there was no way,” Jeff began in a low voice. “He was busy with his kids. Hell, the guy was an accountant. A fucking accountant!”

Jeff walked over to another pile of notes. “I met with him more than a dozen times, one-on-one. We met for lunch. Dinner. Coffee. The guy had great taste—I still drink that coffee whenever I can afford it. It’s a Colombian blend. He called it a ‘perk of his job.’ I’ll never forget that.” Jeff walked back over to the couch and sat down. “But when all the leads came to a dead end, he asked me to let it go. He was a quiet guy, kind of humble really, and he said that all he wanted was to remember his husband the way he was in life. He even told me that if I found out anything else, he didn’t want to know about it.”

“God, Jeff!” Belinda plopped down next to him. “You’re kidding? Who doesn’t want to know what happened to their loved one?”

Jeff met her gaze. “You know, I almost didn’t put Padalecki’s photo up on the board. And when I did, I felt like I was violating his privacy all over again—not Padalecki’s, that poor guy lost all of his rights to privacy the moment he became the victim of a violent crime, but Ackles’—I felt like I was violating Ackles’ privacy again. But now, I’m not so sure.”

“Not so sure?” Belinda asked cautiously.

“No, not so sure.”

“Any particular reason, boss?”

“I’ve got a few, and they seem to be adding up. But, Belinda, this stays between us,” Jeff warned.

“Always, Jeff,” She replied sincerely.

“I know,” Jeff sighed. “I’m just playing this one close to the vest. _We’re_ playing this one close to the vest.”

“Okay, Jeff,” Belinda agreed.

“Look, there is a lot here already, but I need you to find some information for me, and not through the FBI.” Jeff jotted something on a piece of paper. “Tomorrow, see if you can find out who owns this place.”

“Sure, but tell me what’s go—” Belinda began, interrupted by a knock at the door.

“It’s open!” Jeff called out.

Ramirez entered, staring around the room at what looked like a haphazard mess of paperwork and photographs.

“Hello, Agent Morgan, Ms. Wallace,” Ramirez offered formally.

“Oh, cut the shit!” Jeff swore. “In here, I’m Jeff, JD, or Morgan if I’ve really pissed you off. Belinda is Belinda! I’m pretty sure she’ll cut your balls off if you call her ‘Ms. Wallace’.”

Belinda nodded in agreement, a frown on her face for emphasis.

“Diego,” Ramirez added. “My friends call me Diego.”

“Okay then, Diego,” Jeff said, rubbing his hands together, “What did you want to talk about?”

Ramirez shifted his eyes from Jeff to Belinda and back again.

“Oh, don’t hesitate on Belinda’s account,” Jeff reassured the young detective. “There are no secrets in this room. He had to swallow back a bit of emotion with that comment.

“Well, Jeff,” Ramirez began hesitantly, “I was curious about the corporation that owned the rights to Padalecki’s paintings and how similar it was to his children’s names, so I started looking into their holdings.” He sat down on the love seat perpendicular to the couch and opened the binder he was carrying. “Like you said, the last painting that sold was two years ago. But I discovered that it appears as if there is only one unsold painting left in his known body of work.”

Jeff sat forward suddenly. “You’re kidding me! How do you know that?”

“Well,” Ramirez began, his attention drawn away momentarily by all the photos around him. He jumped up and pulled a picture off of the table in front of him. He held it up for Jeff to see, “This is it! ‘Moonlit Bay on Martinique.’ A photographer got a picture of it just after Padalecki died and no one has seen it since. There aren’t even any prints in existence. Where was this taken?”

Jeff grabbed the photo. “Calm the fuck down, kid! That was taken in his house almost twenty years ago. Where the hell else would I see it?”

Ramirez deflated immediately. “Damn! I was really hoping it was a new clue. It has Martinique in the title, and the corporation is located in Martinique—I was looking for connections. What are all these notes and photos about, anyway?”

Jeff got up and walked to the bar, he poured himself a scotch and soda, pulled out a Diet Coke for Belinda—he knew her well—and turned back to face Ramirez before asking, “What’ll you have? And if you say ‘Diet Coke,’ I will kick your ass.”

“I guess I’ll have a Diet Coke...and Jack,” Ramirez grinned in reply and Jeff nearly spilled his drink, he laughed so hard.

“Having trouble with your weight there, Diego?” Jeff quipped.

“Nah, just diabetes runs in my family. I want to live to be an old man, maybe retire somewhere along the gulf.”

“No Florida for you?”

“Not this Texan,” Diego replied. “You know what they say. ‘You can take the boy out of Texas…’”

“…But you can’t take Texas out of the boy.” Jeff tipped his glass. “Touché. I’m not retiring in Florida, either.”

“You’re never retiring,” Belinda added, breaking up the mock reverie. 

“Yeah,” Jeff agreed, sitting up straight and putting on his agency face. “You did good work here. But unfortunately, it doesn’t mean much to the investigation right now. I appreciate what you’ve done, Diego. You took a new approach, went down an avenue no one else thought to take and found information no one else discovered. In a case where elite investigators from two top agencies are involved, you have found a way to stand out. Some day that will make all the difference in an investigation, I am certain of that. You are going to be a huge asset. If you are interested in the FBI as a career objective, I would be proud to have you as part of my team, provided you make it past Quantico or Brunswick, whichever training facility you can get into first.”

“Seriously?” Ramirez asked incredulously. 

“Seriously,” Jeff repeated. “I’ll gladly give you a letter of recommendation. You are what the agency is looking for.”

“Thank you, sir!” Ramirez shook his hand as Jeff guided him to the door.

“My pleasure, Diego,” Jeff replied, smiling as he closed the door behind the young detective.

“What the hell was that?” Belinda asked.

“What?” Jeff asked, sipping his drink.

“The love fest,” Belinda prodded.

“The kid’s good,” Jeff replied, walking back to the couch. “I wasn’t kidding. I’d take him on my team any day.”

“Except today,” Belinda interjected.

“Except today,” Jeff agreed, scanning his notes again. “Especially not today.”

“I’m not giving you a pass on this one, Jeff,” Belinda insisted. “Fill me in.”

“Paul Koenig,” Jeff said, taking another sip of his drink.

“Current victim number four,” Belinda supplied.

Jeff nodded, reaching into his pile of notes and pulling one out. He waved it under Belinda’s nose before pulling it away. “Jensen Ackles’ direct supervisor nineteen years ago at Cardenas-Montoya Consultants, Inc.”

“You are fucking kidding me!” Belinda swore, even though her voice was barely a whisper.

Jeff walked to the kitchenette, pulled out a pan, and put the page of notes in it along with a squirt of fake liquid butter. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for it to disappear. “No, I am not fucking kidding you.”

**--**

Just one more night—tomorrow was the day. So tonight was all that Jensen had left, and he was looking forward to spending some time with Jared. He needed to sleep, that was for sure—he would need steady hands and a strong mind in the morning. But he wanted to see his lover first.

He walked into the house, dropping his supplies in the hallway and tapping the code into the keypad on the alarm system like he did everyday before he switched on the light. At least he didn’t have anything to wash off today. Well, at least not anything that _could_ be washed away.

When the light came on, he looked around, searching, then he walked toward the kitchen and took a whiff—nothing.

“Jared?” He asked cautiously. He peeked around the corner. “Jared, where are you?”

“You’re giving him our painting?” A voice whispered from behind him.

Jensen swung around. He could barely make out Jared’s form on the couch—silhouetted by the hallway light. Jared wasn’t even looking at him, that much was clear. His profile was obvious, as were the arms he held firmly across his chest.

Jensen took a deep breath. This was a conversation he had anticipated for a long time, ever since Arron’s first year at the Art Institute. And now with him nearly a graduate, it was hard to believe they were just now having it.

“Not yet,” he whispered as he cautiously approached his husband and then slowly lowered himself to kneel at Jared’s side.

“It was ours,” Jared replied, moving his head just enough to look down at his lover. “Something just for us. You promised to keep it as long as you lived—to remember me by.”

“And I will, Jared,” Jensen reached a shaky hand out to caress his husband’s thigh. “I’m not giving it to him yet. It will be his to remember us by. When he can tell everyone that he is your son.”

“He’s your son, too.” Jared’s posture relaxed a little, and he reached down to pull Jensen up to sit with him on the sofa.

“Yeah, but he can already tell everyone that,” Jensen mumbled, nibbling tentatively at Jared’s neck. “I need you tonight.”

Jared pulled away suddenly; he held Jensen’s face gently in his large hands and stared into his eyes. “Will it be soon?”

“Yeah,” Jensen breathed out, “Real soon.”

“Good,” Jared replied, pulling his lover into a kiss. “I miss you when the light goes out in here.”

“Me, too,” Jensen whispered against his lips.

They kissed for a few minutes, slow and sensual. Jared cupped his face in a way he usually didn’t, and Jensen let him. He sat back after a moment, running his tongue over his lips to see if he could still feel Jared there, and then he let his eyes drop—it was so unlike him.

“What’s wrong?” Jared asked, letting him go without hesitation.

“God!” Jensen swore. He looked up at Jared and frowned. “Would you believe that after all these years of planning and preparing, I’m scared?”

“Of what?”

Everything was always so simple for Jared, Jensen thought. That’s why his eyes and his brush always saw such beauty.

“Of this being it. Of never holding you again,” Jensen tried to put his fears into words, “Of the dark.”

Jared pulled him into a hug, covering his lips with his own again. When he let Jensen up for a few gasping breaths, he whispered, “Don’t be.”

Jensen couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay. Why the hell did they name that thing ‘Cloud Gate,’ anyway?”

Jared growled! He actually growled as his teeth raked the flesh along Jensen’s neck. And then he pushed Jensen flat on the couch and lay down on top of him. “I’ll tell you all about it when we have more time,” he husked. “Right now, I’d like to _enjoy_ my husband.”

Jensen let his legs fall apart so Jared could kneel between them. It wasn’t often his husband asked for this, and Jensen wasn’t going to deny him, especially not tonight.

**--**


	4. Chapter 4

“Listen up!” Jeff called out as he entered the room. “I’m not in a good mood this morning. I got an earful from the press last night, followed by the Chief of Police and then the Assistant Director.” He paused long enough to blow on his coffee; it was still too hot to drink. Where was Belinda? He never could get it right on his own. “Somebody tell me they’ve got  _something!"_  
  
“Well, Jonathon Graham Investments is a dead end. It really was a newly formed entity five years ago,” Reynolds began. “But, Paul Koenig worked for Cardenas-Montoya Consultants before that. It was some kind of overseas investment firm that’s been linked to Rafael Cardenas. It was dissolved just before Koenig took the position with Graham.”  
  
Jeff put his cup down on the table, turning toward the whiteboard, hoping to hide his expression as he did. He really didn’t think he could fake a look of surprise this early in the morning. He wrote “Rafael Cardenas” in bold, red letters on top of the board, and drew solid red lines connecting his name to Antonio Cardenas, Bernie Walczak, and Paul Koenig.  
  
He turned back around, capping the pen. “That looks like a pretty solid lead to me,” he smirked. “Do we have anything to go along with it?”  
  
“No forensic evidence yet,” Dr. Raymond offered immediately. “We’re still at it, but it isn’t looking promising.”  
  
“And the third current victim, Steven Cantu, we don’t have anything tying him in with the others?” Jeff asked, eyeing the team designated to delve into that particular part of the investigation.  
  
“No, sir,” Fleming replied. “We’re looking into it, but so far we haven’t found any ties. He is a businessman, part of a group that represents the interests of an oil and gas company called ‘Ecopetrol’ here in the States. The company is Colombian, but this case doesn’t seem to have any kind of international ties. Cantu is from Texas, and the company has been established in this country for more than fifteen years now.”  
  
Again, Jeff turned his back on the team. This time it was just to grab his coffee—it was cool enough to drink now.  
  
“Fleming, see if you can find anything that ties Cardenas to Ecopetrol. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a look.” Jeff scanned the room. “Reynolds, talk to Koenig’s friends again, even his ex-wife. Make sure he hadn’t received any threats in the last few weeks.”  
  
These were all routine instructions. His killer wasn’t warning his victims ahead of time. He wasn’t an attention seeker. He hadn’t called the police or the media. No, Jeff’s killer had a game plan in place. Jeff just wasn’t sure how long the game was going to last.  
  
“I think it’s time I paid a visit to Mr. Cardenas,” he continued. “Douglas, Ramirez, you two have met with him already, I want you along on this one.” He looked up to see Belinda entering at the back of the room, her hand raised in the air to draw his attention—a slip of paper just barely visible in it. “I’ll meet you at the car,” he mumbled, making his way toward her.  
  
“You got it,” he whispered, pulling the piece of hotel stationery from between her fingers. “That was quick.”  
  
“What don’t I do for you, Jeff?” She winked.  
  
Jeff raised a brow in response.  
  
“Except that!” She put both hands against his chest, pushing him away, but her grin didn’t fade. They’d worked together too long for playful looks and comments to come between them.  
  
“Just testing the limit,” he murmured.  
  
“You found it,” she grinned. “No need to check further.”  
  
“Good to know,” he continued, and then let his smile drop. “Reynolds just discovered that Koenig worked for Rafael Cardenas in the past. Great work, huh?”   
  
Belinda nodded without missing a beat.  
  
“I’m heading out to meet with Cardenas. Can you find out where he is right now and let me know? Don’t let his people know we’re on our way, just find out his location and call me with the details.”  
  
She was jotting down notes as he spoke. “Got it,” she replied.  
  
He was already walking out the door, but turned back for a moment, waving the note in her direction. “Oh, and good job, Belinda. Thanks for this.”  
  
“It’s what I do,” she mumbled, but he was already gone.  
  


  
  
It took just under thirty minutes to get to the Highland Park area of Dallas. Even now, it made Jeff laugh that within Dallas city limits, Highland Park was so exclusive, it actually had a mayor of it's own.   
  
Any other time of day, it would have been a fifteen or twenty minute drive at most, but the clock hadn’t ticked past the magic hour of 9 AM yet, and no one knew how to stay off the streets before that time in Dallas. After that, you were pretty safe until lunch, and then again until the evening rush.  
  
Jeff let Douglas drive; it was easier for him to compose his thoughts riding shotgun—that left Ramirez alone in the back seat. The ride over hadn’t been the quiet one Jeff wanted. Instead, he was stuck in a strategy session. He already knew what he planned to say, but he played along, letting the detectives feel like they were a part of the team, and slowly, over the course of the ride, manipulated them into his plan.  
  
They stopped at the gate, and even as Douglas started to pull out his credentials, Jeff blocked his hand, and leaned over to present his own. There was nothing like an FBI shield to get a rent-a-cop to abandon his post quickly. But that didn’t happen, the guard stood his ground, examined Jeff’s badge, and then asked for each of the other officer’s credentials as well.  
  
That got Jeff’s attention. These guys were professional…and they were on alert.  
  
The guard called the house and waited for a response before he allowed them to proceed.  
  
“That was—” Douglas began.  
  
“Professional,” Jeff interrupted.  
  
“Yeah,” Douglas huffed out, glancing in the rearview mirror at the small guard shack even as he slowly made his way along the short drive to the house. It couldn’t be more than fifty feet long—hardly worth having a guard shack at all.  
  
The three men stepped out of the car as soon as it came to a stop in front of the house—mansion might have been a better descriptive. When had Rafael Cardenas moved this high up on the food chain?  
  
The heavy wooden doors creaked when they opened, and surprisingly, it was Cardenas himself who greeted them. “Gentlemen,” he smiled. “I hope you have returned to tell me you’ve found the murderer responsible for my son’s death.”  
  
“I wish that were true,” Jeff answered at once, making it clear who was in charge. “Mr. Cardenas, I am Special Agent Morgan with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I am the lead investigator in your son’s case and we have new information we would like to discuss with you.” He glanced around, taking note of the number of security personnel in sight before he continued. “I think it's best that we talk in private.”  
  
“Of course. We can speak in my study.” Cardenas agreed. He led them into the house and down a wide hallway.  
  
Jeff looked around the room as Cardenas guided them in. It was huge, nearly the size of his entire house. French provincial, if Jeff could actually remember the style correctly—probably one of the reasons he wasn’t married anymore. It made him laugh in that stomach churning, nauseating kind of way. It was hard to imagine this man taking afternoon tea on a settee, staring out over the gardens, and ordering a hit on someone. There was no doubt in Jeff’s mind that had happened though—probably nineteen years ago, if Cardenas had lived here that long.  
  
He saw several portraits on the walls. “Where is your family?” Jeff asked.  
  
“I sent them away to mourn out of the public eye,” Cardenas replied immediately. “They have no peace here.”  
  
Jeff nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Thank you, agent,” Cardenas said. “I appreciate that.”  
  
At that moment, another man entered and set a service tray down on a table Jeff would have called “gaudy,” but was certain must have cost more than he made in a month.  
  
“Ah, good. Thank you, Claude!” Cardenas exclaimed. “Can I interest you gentleman in some coffee? I haven’t had mine yet this morning.”  
  
Jeff nodded his agreement, as did Douglas. Ramirez waved off the offer, staying in the background and observing, Jeff assumed.  
  
“Mmmm, this is good,” Jeff murmured after his first sip.  
  
“Yes,” Cardenas agreed, breathing in the aroma. “ _Arritamas._  It is from Colombia. My favorite blend.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jeff murmured under his breath, “I’ve had it before.”  
  


* * *

  
  
They left twenty minutes later without much more information than they had come with.  
  
Jeff hesitated long enough to look around the property before he got back into the car.  
  
“He didn’t seem to take your warning very seriously, sir,” Ramirez said as soon as they were back on the road.  
  
“I didn’t think he would,” Jeff responded. “At least not to us. But did you see that place?”  
  
Douglas nodded. “There were at least six guys walking the perimeter, and the place can’t be sitting on more than two acres. There’s no way that’s his normal security contingent.”  
  
“So, he’s expecting something,” Jeff surmised.  
  
“That’s what I think,” Douglas agreed.  
  
“And he doesn’t want our help,” Jeff added.  
  
“Doesn’t look like it,” Douglas said.  
  
“Okay then,” Jeff continued, “I guess Mr. Cardenas deserves his privacy. We’ll maintain routine surveillance and step it up if he requests our assistance.”  
  
Douglas nodded.  
  
Ramirez just watched the interaction play out. He had a lot to learn, and this was his opportunity to learn from the best.  
  


  
  
Jensen’s watch alarm chimed, and he hurried to click it off, hoping not to awaken Jared. As he slowly inched off the couch, he smiled at his slumbering husband, all sprawled out and drooling. It wasn’t a sight he got to see very often anymore, and he missed it.  
  
Right now wasn’t the time to dawdle though. He had an 11 o’clock appointment with Rafael Cardenas, one he had hijacked from email correspondence—just like the grade-A hacker he’d become. Jensen hadn’t been taking classes for the last eighteen years for nothing.  
  
This was the pivotal moment. The appointment that was the break Jensen had waited for—scanned the Internet, email, and even interoffice memos to find. It was his invitation into Rafael Cardenas' house without anyone suspecting anything, and it was the spark that had ignited the weeklong inferno that consumed all the evil that had stolen Jared from him and held his children’s futures ransom. Jensen couldn’t miss it just to spend a few extra minutes lounging on the couch with his lover.  
  
It was an appointment with Wine Cellar Innovations that Rafael Cardenas had made personally—six months ago. No one would suspect that James Redfern, driving up in his van wrapped in a “Wine Cellar Innovations” advertisement, was actually Jensen Ackles, and that the real James Redfern had received an email and a personal call from Mr. Cardenas’ “assistant” two months ago postponing the job until next month. Since then, all email correspondence had been rerouted, and Jensen himself had called to reconfirm the appointment just yesterday, so everything was definitely on schedule.  
  
He dug through the bag he had dumped in the entranceway the night before, and pulled out the uniform he’d procured for this day. Just as he lifted his first jean-clad leg into the dirt-brown coveralls, he heard Jared stirring on the couch. He slowed down and tried to get ready without making a single sound. It was good practice.  
  
“Jensen?” Jared called out from the other room.  
  
Jensen didn’t answer. He’d said his goodbye last night. Now it really was time to finish his plan.  
  
“Come on, baby,” Jared whined, sleep permeating his voice. Jensen could picture him rubbing his eyes. “Talk to me. You’re still here, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m here,” Jensen sighed, giving up on his sneak-out-of-the-house-silently strategy.  
  
“Is it time?” Jared asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Jensen swallowed, putting his second leg in the coveralls and pulling them over his waist. “This is it.”  
  
Jared was standing in the hallway before Jensen even heard him get off the couch. “God!” He exclaimed. “Even when I see you, I miss you! Hurry up. I’ll be waiting here for you.”  
  
Jensen put his arms in the sleeves and zipped up the front, and then pulled the matching cap down low over his eyes. Sunglasses completed the outfit. He smiled up at Jared for a moment and held his hands out to the sides—some kind of final act of bravado, he supposed. “Stunning, right?” He smirked.  
  
Jared scowled. “I can hardly tell who you are.”   
  
“Then I’m doing it right,” Jensen replied as he reached up to turn off the light like he always did.  
  
“No!” Jared scrambled toward him. “Let me stay. I’ll just wait here while you’re gone.”  
  
Jensen reached out for one final hug and kiss—it might really be the last one—and then watched as Jared pulled away and walked back into the living room.   
  
Jared sank down into the couch and spoke without even looking back toward the hall. “The kids aren’t coming, are they, Jen?”  
  
“No, Jared,” Jensen answered, his fingers frozen on the doorknob.  
  
“Good. That’s good. They don’t need me anymore.” Jared was nodding as he spoke, almost to himself. “But you do. You need me, and I’ll be right here waiting.”  
  
Jensen swallowed hard, his forehead meeting the doorframe before he managed to turn the knob and step out. “Okay,” he muttered as he walked away, hearing the door close in the distance behind him.  
  


  
  
“They said you were ready for me,” Cardenas announced as he descended the stairs to the space that would soon be his new wine cellar.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Jensen kept his back turned. He didn’t try to change his voice in any way. His few interactions with Rafael Cardenas had been many, many years in the past, and he was certain the man would have dismissed him as insignificant long ago. While he might remember what Jensen looked like, there was no way Cardenas would recognize his voice.   
  
“This place is set up perfectly already,” Jensen let out a soft whistle as he scanned the room. “The temperature and humidity is adjusted just right. And the soundproofing—”  
  
“I’m glad you approve,” Cardenas chuckled. “We agreed on a 20,000 bottle design. What did you need me for?”  
  
“Well,” Jensen took a couple steps closer as Cardenas got to the bottom of the stairs. “I believe somebody in the office talked you into the pine, but I wanted to suggest the mahogany instead. It holds up much better in a weather-controlled environment, and it just looks so damn good. I mean, so good, sir.” He held out his book of samples and let his head drop so that the brim of his cap covered most of his face.  
  
Cardenas was laughing as he approached. “What do you care? You don’t work on commission.” He reached out to grab the book.  
  
Jensen looked up at that moment, the heel of his left hand shooting out to connect with the side of Cardenas’ head. As the older man crumpled to the ground, Jensen sneered, “I don’t.”  
  
He bent down to make sure the older man was unconscious. It wasn’t the first such blow Jensen had delivered, and he was certain he had made solid contact, but he wasn’t leaving anything to chance. Then he rushed up the staircase, closing and locking the door at the top.  
  


  
  
Jeff drove slowly past the house twice before he pulled to the curb across the street. He sat in the car for several minutes just observing. He’d waited until the team broke for lunch to make this trip, so he had plenty of time.   
  
Not a whole lot had changed over the years. The paint was the same color, even if it looked fresher, and the trees were the same, just taller, wider.   
  
There were those same four flagstone steps he had walked up so many times all those years ago, each time with no more answers for a grieving family than he had on the visit before, until he didn’t go back any more.  
  
Jeff shook his head and stepped out of his rental. He made his way to the door—a walk that still felt familiar. The grass was cut short under his feet; the bushes he passed were neatly trimmed. Even the roses were in full-bloom.  
  
He knocked on the door and peered in the tiny window at eye level. He couldn’t see anything from this vantage point. He waited a few minutes before knocking again, and then ringing the bell. Still nothing.  
  
His fingers reached for the knob before he made a conscious decision to do so, and he took that as a sign to continue. It turned easily, and Jeff pushed the door open—it didn’t even creak with age and disuse.  
  
He felt a moment’s panic as his eyes caught the alarm panel to his right, but he relaxed when he saw the solid green “inactive” light.  
  
It only took him a few minutes to make his initial survey of the entire place—there was hardly anything in it. But it just took a moment in the kitchen for Jeff to realize he was on the right track. There was next to nothing in the refrigerator, a microwave that looked as old as Jeff felt, but a brand new coffee maker on the counter and a bag of coffee Jeff had first seen in this house so many years ago: “ _Arritamas._ ”  
  
Jeff moved back toward the front door, still looking for clues when a small, deep burgundy rectangle in the corner by the front door caught his attention. It stood out against the crème-colored carpeting. He bent down, picking it up and rubbing his fingers over the embossed design: Wine Cellar Innovations.  
  
“Shit!” Jeff cursed, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he hurried back to the car.   
  
It took a few rings, but someone finally picked up. “Cardenas residence,” a male voice answered.  
  
“This is Agent Morgan,” Jeff spoke quickly, he was already on his way, but Oak Lawn was at least fifteen minutes from Highland Park this time of day. “Let me speak with the head of Mr. Cardenas’ security team.”  
  
There was another pause before Jeff heard a different man. “This is Mike Bradley. What can I do for you, agent?”  
  
“Does Mr. Cardenas have any scheduled appointments?” Jeff asked without any preliminary niceties.  
  
Bradley sighed, Jeff could hear it loud and clear, before he replied. “Nothing we can’t handle, agent. But I appreciate your concern.”  
  
“Look!” Jeff barked. “I’m not sure you know what you’re up against. I’m going to ask you again. Does Mr. Cardenas have any appointments today?”  
  
There was a pause before Bradley responded, his voice much lower this time. “Do you know something I should know, Agent Morgan?”  
  
Jeff fingered the card in his pocket. “No,” he said. It seemed to come out much more quickly than he wanted it to. “Just a feeling. I’m heading over that way. Calling a couple of my men to meet me there. I’m hoping we can work together on this.”  
  
There was no response.  
  
“Bradley?” Jeff asked. When he still received no reply he looked down at his phone, the call had ended. “Shit!”  
  
It took him a few of minutes to get into the flow of traffic, but then he dialed again.  
  
“Douglas,” the detective responded on the first ring.  
  
“Douglas,” Jeff ordered, “Grab Ramirez and meet me at Cardenas’ house. I’ve got a bad feeling.”  
  
“JD,” Douglas replied, his voice less sarcastic than usual. “I think your bad feeling hit a little too late. I was just trying to call you. We got a distress call from Cardenas’ chief of security. Two marked units, a rescue squad and an ambulance will be there long before we can get to the scene. Bradley said there was a note…”  
  
Jeff let his phone slide out of his hand and hit the brake; they didn’t need him now, at least not right away, and he could blame the delay on traffic. As soon as there was a chance, he made a quick U-Turn. He could still hear Douglas’ voice, “JD? Jeff? What’s going on?” repeating from the seat beside him. He reached over and clicked his phone off.  
  


  
  
Jensen tapped his fingers on the bare countertop, waiting for Cardenas to regain consciousness. He focused on his breaths for a few minutes—they were coming too fast, as were his heartbeats, and he couldn’t afford to lose control now. He didn’t have a lot of time. He’d been alone with Rafael Cardenas for ten minutes now; there was no way the guards would leave them unattended much longer.  
  
Just then, Cardenas blinked a few times before struggling against the plastic zip-tie securing his wrists behind his back. He gasped when he realized he was restrained.  
  
“Waking up?” Jensen asked.  
  
Cardenas looked up from the floor, confusion evident on his face. “Who—?”  
  
“No time for questions,” Jensen interrupted. “So I’ll just fill you in. Well, mostly.”  
  
He took his cap off and crouched down so he was eye level with the older man. “Are you telling me you don’t recognize me after all these years or that you weren’t expecting me to pay you a visit? Or are you just surprised that we ended up meeting this way?”  
  
Cardenas leaned away from him and screamed, “Guards! Bradley!”  
  
Jensen stood up again and laughed. He pointed at the walls all around them. “Soundproof, remember? And honestly, you couldn’t have done more to help me.”  
  
Cardenas eyes widened, he stared as Jensen made his way back to the counter and grabbed a hook—one of five he had laid out there. “Please,” he begged. “Please. I’ll give you anything you want!”  
  
Jensen shook his head, approaching the older man slowly. “You can’t,” he whispered in Cardenas’ ear, pulling back before the man had a chance to head butt him. “You lost that chance nineteen years ago.”  
  
“I’m sorry!” Cardenas cried out as the first hook penetrated behind the tendon of his left heel. “Don’t…don’t do this!”  
  
Jensen attached a length of rope to the handle and pulled Cardenas leg off the ground, extending it out before the man. The man was wailing now, and Jensen was happy not to have to gag him, he wanted to hear Cardenas’ pain. He tied it to one of the wooden posts that were set up around the room—the skeleton of the wine cellar Cardenas would never get to enjoy.  
  
He did the same with the other leg, taking an extra minute to cautiously capture the leg as Cardenas kicked wildly to keep it away from him.   
  
Jensen took a moment to admire his work: Cardenas was now lying on the ground, with his arms restrained behind him and his legs extended out in front of him; he was no longer able to maintain his balance. But he hadn’t completely lost his will to fight. He was rocking from side to side, despite the obvious pain in his legs, attempting to sit upright.  
  
“Don’t bother,” Jensen growled, “If you get up, I’ll just put you down again.” He wiped his latex-gloved hands off on a cloth, and placed it in his bag. With his careful placement of the hooks, there wasn’t much blood loss—yet.  
  
“Why are you doing this?” Cardenas whined, looking up as Jensen came toward him again, another hook in his hand. The older man was pale and trembling.  
  
Jensen stopped, staring at him incredulously. “Do you really need to ask?” But when Cardenas didn’t respond, he continued, “You tried to take away all of my options. Now I’m taking away all of yours.”  
  
“Just, just kill me then,” Cardenas begged, his voice climbing higher and higher with each word. “Don’t do  _this!_ ”  
  
“Why shouldn’t I?” Jensen hissed, moving behind Cardenas to push the man back up into a sitting position by the back of his head.   
  
Sensing another change, the older man stilled instantly. Jensen took advantage of the momentary silence and docility to slip the razor-sharp hook under the muscle just below Cardenas’ right elbow. He cut through the zip-tie even as Cardenas began crying out in pain, and used the handle of the hook to wrench the man’s arm backward viciously.  
  
There was more blood now as Jensen attached the hook to a post on the other side of the room. Not even Cardenas’ ass remained on the ground, and the man screamed as his shoulder dislocated under the strain.  
  
Jensen repeated the move on the other side.   
  
Cardenas was panting heavily, sweat beading on his cool, ashen forehead. He still stared up at Jensen though, as the younger man approached with the last of his hooks in hand.  
  
He knelt next to Cardenas’ head, the knees of his coveralls just touching the slowly accumulating pool of blood, and ran the back of the steel hook along Cardenas’ cheek. “Give me one good reason why you killed him,” he whispered into Cardenas' ear, “And I will let you die quickly. Why him? Why him and not me?”  
  
“W—we didn’t need him,” Cardenas gasped out between shallow breaths; pain and blood loss had taken away his last efforts at subterfuge. “We could still use you.”  
  
“Fuck!” Jensen swore, standing up and stepping away from the mess. “Look down and watch your blood seep out, and remember that this is the only life you have left.”  
  
He shoved his gear back into the bag, stripped off the coveralls, and placed them in the bag as well. He pulled the cap back on and headed toward the stairs, stopping just long enough to drop his note next to the pooling blood. Already, Cardenas was staring straight up, glassy-eyed, panting and moaning in pain.  
  
Jensen didn’t even glance back as he opened the door and stepped out, locking it behind him.  
  
He walked casually to the van. As he drove out, he rolled down the window and nodded to the guard. “Forgot something at the shop. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Boy is your boss pissed.”  
  
“I’ll bet,” the guard smirked as Jensen drove away.  
  


  
  
He didn’t have to flip the switch, it was already on, but something seemed wrong. The door had been unlocked, the alarm inactive. And then he remembered leaving Jared waiting for him.  
  
He smiled, taking a deep breath and hoping to smell cookies baking, that was one of his favorites, but all he smelled was…coffee.  
  
“Jared?” He asked, walking into the kitchen.  
  
“Is that who you expected?” Jeff asked.  
  
“Detective Morgan,” Jensen replied immediately, taking a step back. It had been a long time since he’d seen the man, but he recognized him at once.  
  
“Agent,” Jeff corrected. “I work for the FBI now. Seems like you’ve gotten a lot of attention since we last met. But you can still call me Jeff. I would prefer that, actually. Come in. Sit down.”  He gestured at the chair across from him at the table.  
  
“Okay,” Jensen said. He entered the kitchen in slow motion, raising his hands up in the air and out to his sides.  
  
“Oh, come on!” Jeff growled. “You planning to kill me?”  
  
"Uh…no?” Jensen answered, straddling the seat across from the agent without using his hands at all.  
  
“Then for God’s sake, put your fucking hands down!” Jeff growled again.  
  
They sat across from each other in silence for a few minutes—forming some kind of truce—before Jeff spoke again. “So, I guess you’re done now. I mean, that’s what the note was about. It meant you’re done now, right?”  
  
“How did you get in?” Jensen asked.  
  
 _You didn’t lock the door._  

Jensen turned his head quickly toward his left, where Jared was now sitting on the counter next to the coffee maker, a soft smile on his face. He had to lean forward a bit to keep from hitting his back or his head on the cabinets. 

 _You didn’t set the alarm, either._  
  
“Fuck!” Jensen swore.  
  
“What?” Jeff looked at him suspiciously.  
  
“Nothing,” Jensen covered. “I just remembered. I rushed out and forgot to set the alarm and lock the door. But how did you even know to look here?”  
  
Jeff shrugged. “It’s my job.”  
  
Jensen shook his head, and held his hands out across the table, palms up. “So, shall we just get this over with then?”  
  
“Hold on,” Jeff grumbled, lifting his hands up in an effort to placate the other man. “Just hold on, and I’ll tell you. But it works both ways.”  
  
Jensen pulled back, nodding in agreement. He heard the chime on the coffee maker, and looked at the agent. “Coffee?”  
  
“Hell yeah,” Jeff grinned. “I didn’t start that goddamn thing for nothing. That’s more work than I put into making dinner!”  
  
 _It’s worth it, though._    
  
“It is!” Jensen agreed, smiling at Jared.  
  
“Then why do you use that kind of maker?” Jeff asked.  
  
“Hmmm?” Jensen looked at the agent. “Oh. Um, because it’s worth it.” It only seemed logical to repeat Jared’s words, but when his husband started laughing, he hissed, “stop it!” under his breath.  
  
“You okay, Mr. Ackles?” Jeff asked.  
  
“Don’t! Don’t call me that!” Jensen snarled. He had already made it to the cabinet with two cups in it, and it was all he could do to keep from dropping either one, his hands started shaking so violently. “I haven’t been that man in a long time.” He lowered his head, and started pulling items off the shelves, letting them drop on the counter.  
  
 _Relax, baby._  
  
“I’m okay,” Jensen muttered.  
  
“What?” Jeff asked.  
  
“Nothing,” Jensen said. “Do you want cream? Sugar?” He pulled out the ceramic jar that he’d stashed on the top shelf, in the very back, and scooped out a heaping teaspoonful of the powder, watching as it slowly spilled into his cup. He stirred until his coffee turned a deceiving caramel brown.  
  
“Nah, I like mine black.” Jeff took the cup when Jensen returned, eyeing the other man’s drink. “As I recall, you always drank yours black, too.”  
  
“The years change a man.” Jensen took his first tiny sip. It wasn’t bad.  
  
“True,” Jeff agreed. “This is good stuff. Funny, Rafael Cardenas drinks this same blend.”  
  
“Drank,” Jensen corrected him.  
  
“That’s right,” Jeff replied without faltering. “That reminds me. You didn’t answer my question. Are you done now? Because, no matter what the guy deserved, you know I gotta take you in.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jensen sighed in relief, looking toward Jared with a tiny grin.  
  
 _It’s okay, baby. Drink._  
  
“I know,” Jensen whispered before turning back to face the agent and taking another sip.  
  
Jeff put his cup down on the table and leaned forward on both elbows. “God, son! Why didn’t you give me a chance to help you?”  
  
Jensen leaned back in his chair. “What would you have done? Witness protection? I did a damn good job of that all on my own.” He picked up his spoon and stirred his coffee again, shaking his head. “No. It was the right time now. My son—”  
  
“Arron,” Jeff interjected.  
  
“He thinks,” Jensen hesitated, getting up and carrying his coffee back over to the counter next to Jared. He needed the closeness right now. “He thinks his name is Alec now. That was easy. He was too little to remember much. His sister was harder. But listen. My son is an artist. He is talented, just like his father, and he deserves to call himself his father’s son. I-I wanted him to have that.”  
  
“Move over!” Jensen hissed at Jared, playfully slapping his thigh and pulling the drawer out from under where he had been sitting.  
  
“You okay, Mr…Jensen?” Jeff looked at him questioningly.  
  
 _You’re okay._  
  
Jensen looked up at Jared, and then back toward the agent. He turned the drawer over on the countertop, and pulled off the envelopes that were taped there. “Yeah,” he replied. “He says I’m okay.”  
  
Jeff swallowed hard, struggling to remain emotionless. He’d never felt like such a failure in his entire career. But he held it all back; this wasn’t about him. He looked around the room. He couldn’t help it. “Is he here?” He asked in a monotone.  
  
Jensen laughed. “You think I’m crazy.”  
  
“Not what I asked, son,” Jeff countered immediately. Again, he didn’t let his tone falter. “I just asked if he was here now.”  
  
“For me, he’s always here,” Jensen replied, “As long as the light is on, he’s here.” His hands were shaking as he clutched the envelopes in one and his coffee cup in the other. He tried to take a sip.  
  
“And when the light goes out?” Jeff asked.  
  
 _Don’t. Don’t take another sip yet, baby. Sit down first._  
  
Jensen turned toward Jared. “I…don’t know.”  
  
“Is he talking to you?” Jeff questioned.  
  
Jensen looked back to the agent, seeing how the older man’s brow crinkled with concern.  
  
“Yeah,” he chuckled, taking another sip and wiping his lips on the back of his hand. “But don’t worry, it’s nothing new. He always talks to me.”  
  
“What’s he saying?” Jeff asked evenly.  
  
“He told me to sit down before I drink any more of my coffee,” Jensen replied. He set the cup down on the counter just in time—he had to use the strength in his arms to help keep him upright. His legs were noticeably weaker already. It seemed too soon. “S-sometimes he’s a lot smarter than me.”  
  
Jeff jumped up and hurried around the table. He grabbed the envelopes with one hand and Jensen’s arm with the other, helping the younger man back to the table. “What the hell?”  
  
Jensen had managed to bring his cup along, and only a little sloshed out of it as he set it in front of him. “Don’ drink that,” he told the agent.  
  
“What is it?” Jeff asked.  
  
“’S coffee…and coral snake venom. Took me a long time to figure out how to make tha' powder. No antidote.” Jensen answered. “Didn’ think it’d work this fast. Please. Take those to our kids. Address 's on ‘em.”  
  
He looked at the envelopes in the agent’s hands, and the tears started to fall. Jensen remembered that night so long ago. That night when he teased Jared about how long his letters to his children were going to be. And now, looking at the thin envelope, the one missing all their childhood memories, it hit just a little too hard. His head slumped to the table, and he sobbed.  
  
 _No, Jensen! Not now, baby. You’ve got to finish this._  
  
Jensen sat up as straight as he could. He could feel the poison stronger now. It was surging through his veins. He could really  _feel_  it. Even the strength in his arms was giving out, and the fine tremors were turning into all-out shakes. His breaths were becoming strained. That had to be the scariest part: It was difficult to draw air in and even more difficult to expel it. His tongue felt thick and heavy. Even his eyes didn’t want to stay open anymore.  
  
“Give ‘em to our kids,” he mumbled. The agent was already right next to him, he was sure Morgan could hear. “Was gonna leave ‘em here. On th’ table. This ’s better. Tell ‘em I loved ‘em. Tell ‘em we loved ‘em.”  
  
His head hit the table again, hard. He could hear the thud. But this time, he couldn’t manage to lift it back up.  
  


  
  
“Jeff?” Belinda asked, cautiously opening the door to his suite.  
  
“On the balcony,” He hollered over his shoulder. “There are steaks on the counter, bring them out when you come.”  
  
She handed him the plate and looked at the tiny grill sitting atop one of those manufactured plastic hotel patio tables. The coals were already turning white, red-tinged around the edges. “You’ve been here awhile,” she observed aloud. “What are we celebrating?”  
  
“Not celebrating anything,” Jeff replied. “Just making my assistant dinner. There’s Diet Coke in the fridge. Grab me one, too?”  
  
“Uh, sure,” she said, heading back inside. The tables were cleared of all the documents and back in their original positions. Belinda wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. She brought three boxes to the hotel just days before, and now there were only two, packed and sitting in the corner, ready to be returned to Jeff’s attic.  
  
Belinda crossed over to the kitchenette and grabbed two sodas before returning to the balcony.  
  
“So Lilarcor doesn’t own Ackles’ old home. Are you surprised?” She asked.  
  
“Nope,” Jeff responded, using a long-bladed knife he’d found in the kitchenette to poke at the coals. “Why would it own that old house?”  
  
“No reason,” Belinda said. “Weird that some other company located in Martinique owns it though, don’t you think?”  
  
“Probably just a coincidence,” Jeff surmised. He squinted, trying to make out Belinda’s face as the sun did its best to obscure his vision in its waning moments. He would win tonight, it didn’t have much time left for the battle, but it would come back tomorrow and paint those same blotches behind his eyelids each time he attempted to defy it again.  
  
“So, I heard there was a note at the Cardenas scene this afternoon,” Belinda ventured, rubbing away some of the moisture on the outside of her can with a fingertip.  
  
“There was,” Jeff agreed, placing the steaks on the grill as he spoke. “It said ‘This is the last.’”  
  
Belinda looked at the grill and then back to her boss. “And I take it you believe that.”  
  
“Yeah,” He reached the knife below the grill to redistribute the coals just a bit. “I do.”  
  
“That’s good. Really good.” Belinda replied.  
  
“I’m going to Chicago for a couple of days next week,” Jeff changed the subject with ease. “It’s personal, but I need you to rearrange my schedule while I’m gone.”  
  
“No problem, boss.” She looked back to the grill. “Looks like you got that fire going really well.”  
  
“I had good kindling.”  
  


  
  
Jensen lifts his head off the table. It doesn’t seem to take nearly the effort he thought it would. The lights are dim and Jeff Morgan is gone. The room blurs out of focus around him but he catches a glimpse of light from beneath a door—a door that is located exactly where his staircase should be.  
  
Cautiously, he rises to his feet, and even though the room is still in a haze, he doesn’t feel dizzy or weak-limbed any more. He is strong and alert now. As he makes his way around the table heading toward the mysterious passageway, his fingers brush across Jeff’s coffee cup, but it doesn’t move. His own cup is gone.  
  
He’s only taken a couple of steps when the door eases open without a sound; bright light floods the room and blinds him. Jensen throws a hand across his eyes to protect them as he retreats back to his original position by the kitchen table.  
  
“It’s just me,” A voice calls out softly from behind the light. “Come to me, baby.”  
  
Jensen lets his hand drop away from his face, hoping time and the overwhelming exposure will help his eyes adjust to the dazzling light. Slowly, ever so slowly, he can recognize Jared’s outline within the brilliant white, and again, he takes hesitant steps in that direction.   
  
“Jared,” He whispers in relief. “Come here. I need you.”  
  
Even with the glaring light behind Jared, Jensen can see his lover’s head dip down and shake from side to side. “I can’t baby. Not this time. This time you have to come to me.”  
  
“Okay,” Jensen mutters, taking another step and reaching out, seeking. “I—I thought it would be dark.” He is getting closer now, and he can make out Jared’s soft smile and gorgeous dimples.  
  
As soon as Jensen crosses the threshold, Jared pulls him into a tight hug. Warm, firm arms wrap solidly around Jensen for the first time in nearly twenty years, and he reaches around to grab hold of the man he’s missed so much. He chokes back a sob and clutches tighter.  
  
“No, baby,” Jared soothes, holding on just as tightly. “It only looks that way from the other side.”   
  


_~Fin~_

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to the lovely arliss for the Beta! :)
> 
> The artwork included was done by the gifted tiggeratl1. I finally figured out a way to include it! Only for this chapter though, unfortunately.


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